


Mileage

by Scullysfan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scullysfan/pseuds/Scullysfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And miles to go before I sleep..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mileage

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.  
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She never felt the slow, wet tickle. In retrospect, it didn't surprise her. Not when her nerve endings crackled like live wires, sparks racing along them as they rushed to her body's epicenter of sensation. The heaviness of him slid from her, only to fill her again as she pressed her groin to his. She clasped her knees to the sides of his ribcage and burrowed her fingers into his shoulders. Leaning low over him to increase her speed, as any good jockey would do, she ground the knot of nerves against his pelvic bone with each downward thrust. Waves of tremors began to flow down her limbs. 

How could she feel anything else?

It was no wonder she didn't catch the sudden, sickening sweet odor. Her olfactory senses were too enamored of the tartness of his sweat, tempered by the occasional whiff of day-old deodorant as he raised his arms to grab the spindles in her headboard. Anchored there, he dug his heels into the mattress and bucked up to meet her. With each frantic separation and reunion of their bodies, she smelled them -- the fragrance she could never describe or categorize. She knew it only as them. 

What scent could overpower that?

Anyone in her position would understand why she didn't see the dark splashes of thick red landing on his chest. They melted through the scattering of hair, mixing with the sheen of perspiration. She never noticed them -- not with her eyes clamped shut in concentration and pleasure. Bright flashes played against the twin screens of her eyelids. 

Why should she open her eyes and interrupt the light show?

"Scully!" His vice-like grip latched onto her shoulders and pulled her to a halt. 

Breaths came in quick gasps as she lifted her weighted eyelids to look down on him. Thin, dim shafts of light peeking through cracks in the blinds crossed his face. Even in near darkness, even half-blinded by unsatisfied desire, she recognized the look on his face. 

Bone-chilling fear. 

As if to prove her assessment correct, his hands lost their fierce hold on her and trembled against her arms. "Scully," he repeated, his voice hoarse. 

"Mulder, wha -- "

"You... you're bleeding." The words were a choked whisper. 

Scully's eyes went wide. She followed his gaze as it dropped to his chest and there they were. Three ugly splotches of blood. 

Four. 

Pulling her arm from his hand, she swiped at her nose in a practiced gesture. A smear of crimson confirmed her suspicions. With a sigh, she pulled away from him, feeling his softening penis slide from her. 

Nothing like a nosebleed to kill the mood, she thought as she settled back against a pile of pillows and reached for the box of Kleenex on her nightstand. Tissue stuffed up her nose to help staunch the flow, head tilted back... it was a routine she knew all too well. She felt Mulder sit up and settle next to her, pulling the comforter up to cover them before he turned to her. 

"Where did that come from, Scully?"

"I don't know, Mulder." She pulled the tissue away from her nose before she answered, checking to see if the bleeding had begun to slow. "It could have been any number of factors. Excessively dry weather often causes bleeding." Slipping into the familiarity of differential diagnosis allowed her the impersonal distance she needed. "Some small capillaries might have burst due to my elevated heart rate and vigorous activity... just now. Nosebleeds aren't unheard of for adults in their mi--"

"Or," he interrupted her with a convulsive grip on her knee. "Or it could signal a relapse." His voice trailed off at the end of his tentative suggestion. "In the..."

She'd noticed not long after her cancer diagnosis that Mulder seemed to find it difficult to say the word at all. He even stopped referring to their cigarette-smoking friend by the Cancerman moniker he'd once used. Apparently, almost two years into her remission, he still couldn't bring himself to voice that hated word. 

Avoiding his gaze, she admitted, "It could. Remission isn't a cure, Mulder." She dabbed at her nose again, and this time the Kleenex came away clean. Tossing it onto the bedside table, she finally turned to look at him. "See, it stopped already."

He stared at her, his eyes determined. "Have you had a nosebleed since the chip was implanted in your neck? Since the cancer went into remission?"

"No, I haven't, but... Mulder, it's too early to make assumptions." She tried to reason with him, hoping by calming his fears she could convince herself at the same time. Even to her own ears, babblings about dry weather and middle-aged nosebleeds sounded pathetically weak. And since when was she middle-aged anyway?

He nodded his head, agreeable but insistent. "You make it all sound reasonable, Scully. But you need to see the doctor tomorrow, anyway, just to make sure. If it's discovered early enough, we can --"

"We can what?" Suddenly the fear that had a stranglehold on her heart morphed into anger. It was early all right. Too damn early. Scant months into an expanded relationship with her partner, a relationship six years in the making that had managed to bring some semblance of joy and even the barest measure of peace into both their lives, and she was finding herself forced to face its possible end. "Did a warranty come with this chip in case of malfunction?"

He winced at the reminder. "Scully... we can... we'll do something -- if it has returned, we'll find a way." 

She didn't realize her hands were tightly clenched until he gently pried them apart and took one hand in his. "But one way or the other," he continued, "we have to know for sure -- so we can either begin searching for another answer or..." He bent his head to hers and nuzzled against her cheek. "...so we can pick up where we were so rudely interrupted tonight."

She followed a sound that might have been a chuckle under better circumstances with a barely imperceptible nod. "Okay. I'll call Dr. Zuckerman in the morning and see if he can squeeze me in tomorrow." 

"Okay." He tugged her down with him until she lay flush against his side. "C'mon -- if I'm not going to get laid tonight, I need my beauty sleep." This time she laughed outright as she settled her head on his shoulder. He gathered her close with one arm wrapped around her back, his other hand beginning a slow, light tracing of invisible lines up and down the arm she had lying across his chest. 

It was going to be okay. This was nothing. Lying in Mulder's arms, she could almost convince herself, until his fingers fluttered soft as a bird's wing against the tender, raised skin on the back of her neck. Suddenly the darkness once again seemed on the verge of swallowing her whole. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder's eyes tracked from his watch to Scully for the umpteenth time since she'd returned from the hospital that afternoon. Dr. Zuckerman's first patient of the day had canceled, so Scully slipped into the available spot. She'd been gone no more than an hour before Mulder's cell phone rang. It was her, of course, calling to let Mulder know she was on her way to Holy Cross Memorial Hospital for tests, having been sent there by her doctor after his initial examination. 

He had pleaded to go with her. Her gentle but firm refusal accompanied a reminder that the waiting room never had any good magazines, and that the hospital staff frowned on the sort he brought with him. 

Grudgingly, he gave in and spent the next five hours shuffling papers from one side of his desk to the other, not to mention flipping every pencil in his drawer into the ceiling tiles. He'd started on Scully's pencils until he remembered her reaction the last time he'd done that. 

Six cups of coffee and two rushed trips to the bathroom later, he was about to put the trash can on the filing cabinet for a little hoop action when she walked in. Flashing her "don't even think about it" face at him, it was the last time she'd looked him in the eye. 

As she stood by his desk, her wandering gaze and the set of her shoulders betrayed the uneasy fear he suspected lurked behind her cool recitation. Dr. Zuckerman had ordered the standard battery of bloodwork, in addition to a PET scan to determine if the tumor had begun to grow again. He had reminded her that remission didn't preclude the reappearance of her previous symptoms, though, he expressed some concern about what a nosebleed indicated after all this time. He hoped to have the test results back in a few days, though the weekend would likely delay them a bit. 

With a quick nod and a "So, we'll just wait and see," Scully had concluded what sounded like an autopsy report for all the emotion she exhibited. She'd deflected all his subsequent questions with the briefest possible answers, including the one he most needed answered at the moment -- how was she feeling about all this?

She'd answered with an "I'm okay" and a carefully controlled smile. Then with a furtive glance in his general direction she'd busied herself at the table she used when working downstairs instead of up in her own rarely inhabited office. 

Nearly two hours later she still sat there, her eyes trained on the same file folder she'd first opened, having looked at exactly three pages of a case report -- an old case at that. Mulder knew it was three because he hadn't stopped watching her since she'd entered the office. He was waiting -- yearning for a sign she was ready to talk to him, to let him share the fearful anxiety he knew she was hiding. A frightened Scully was usually a quiet Scully. Withdrawn. Carefully enclosing herself behind high, stone walls  
to keep the boogyman out and her emotions from betraying her command. 

Just a few months ago, after a horrific child murder case and a round of self-recrimination and depression, he had helped her begin dismantling her self-made fortress. It had given him enough room to slip through and join in her sorrow over Emily's death and the loss of what the little girl represented. Together they had huddled in bed and whispered of memories and wishes. 

But from all appearances, Scully was busy slapping together brick and mortar even as she sat staring with unfocused eyes at the Craddock, Maine Bank police report. Mulder sighed and leaned back, preparing to plunk his feet onto his desk and spend the rest of the workday puzzling his way over, under, or around her protective barriers. Accustomed to being lost in silent thought, he scrambled to regain his chair's balance when the voice he'd longed to hear sliced the stillness. It both startled him and gave him hope that perhaps Scully was going to leave a Mulder-door in the wall after all. 

"It's too quiet in here, Mulder." She flipped the folder shut and tossed it onto a teetering stack of files. "No mutants, alien abductions, or time travel to investigate," she continued, "not much left to do but think. It's a hell of a time to be stuck in the city without a case." Swiveling her chair around to face him, she smiled and further convinced him she was laying a path just for him. "Don't you have something odd and unexplained up your sleeve, Mulder?"

He grinned and began unbuttoning his left shirt sleeve. "Just that mole you once said looked like a cow's udder."

"Mulder," Scully shook her head and sternly clarified, "you're the one who said it looked like a cow's udder. I pointed out you had milked that particular piece of pigmented skin for all the laughs it was worth." 

Her no-nonsense mask melted as she stood. He remained still, watching as she approached him. As much as he wanted to hold her, to listen as she admitted last night's scare had sent her rocketing back to the days of living with a ticking time bomb in her head, he knew it had to be her choice. 

"All of this inactivity...feels..." she paused, "it feels... like dead calm. Remember?" Slow, measured steps found her beside his desk, and she leaned against it. "Stopped at a standstill with the fog surrounding us -- smothering us." 

Feeling a bit more confident in his ability to traverse the uneven terrain in front of him, he ventured, "That's how you're feeling now?"

She didn't answer for a moment, and then gave a solemn nod. "Yeah. I guess... I feel like the walls are closing in." His stomach roiled and clenched when she crossed her arms over her chest as though seeking protection. He had to lean forward to catch her next words, she spoke them so softly. "Like I'm going nowhere." 

He knew the feeling well. Sitting in hospital waiting rooms and hallways from one medical center to another, he had wished for something to do. Once in a while, an alternative presented itself -- the chance to shove a gun in Old Smokey's face, to take the boys for a little late night breaking and entering, to skulk through the  
underbelly of the Department of Defense -- but it was rare that the opportunity garnered a worthy prize. Most of the time, helplessness hung like a mantle around his neck. 

That a similar weight would burden the woman standing before him became suddenly unacceptable. If he couldn't force lab technicians to hurry the hell up, he could at least make certain Scully wasn't standing still. She started when he swung his feet off the desk and planted them on the floor. "Then let's blow this pop stand," he exclaimed. "Let's go somewhere."

"What?" Her brow furrowed. 

In possession of a plan, though he'd be damned if he knew exactly what it was, he began shutting down the computer. "You said you feel like you're going nowhere. You have too much time to consider all the what ifs," he reminded her while digging a couple of fresh cell phone batteries out of a drawer. "So go home. Pack. We're going away for a few days." 

"Mulder! We can't --"

"We're not on a case right now, Scully," he interrupted. "We've both got so many vacation hours, if we don't use them, that idiot Tom Blythe in Accounting will cut them." The matter settled in his mind, he crossed the office to gather her briefcase. 

She stammered even as she took her briefcase from him. "But... but... where are we going? And what about the test results? They should be back in three or four days, and --" 

Her protests died in her throat as he faced her and gave in to the urge to touch her. With the barest caress, he stroked his hands up and down her arms before they settled on her shoulders. "And you can leave your cell phone number with the doctor's office." Stooping a bit to meet her eye to eye, he thought he saw a glimmer of acceptance forming. 

"Now go, Scully. I'll work my magic and make all the arrangements -- including clearing this with Skinner, for which I'm sure you'll find some... suitable way to repay me later." Relief coursed through him as she met his leering grin with an affectionate rolling of her eyes. She would go along with his spur-of-the-moment scheme. God, he thought, let me get this right. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he concluded, "You need this, Scully. We both do." 

As he pulled away from her, she looked up at him, searching his face for something. Whatever it was, she must have found it. Rising on her tip-toes, she laid her cheek against his for the space of three or four galloping heartbeats, and then backed away, hefting her briefcase from the desk. "I'll go pack." 

He stood rooted in the same spot until the staccato clicking of her heels faded. Then with renewed determination, he began flipping through the Rolodex with one hand and dialing Skinner's extension with the other. "Kimberly, is the Assistant Director in?"

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Scully burrowed further beneath the covers, seeking warmth even as she inhaled the cool, biting air that came from jacking up the air conditioning to near Arctic levels. Not for the first time since she crawled into bed, she mentally reviewed the contents of her suitcase. Traveling out of town for something other than a case eliminated the business suit factor, but unfortunately it appeared all other attire was fair game. 

She had been peering into the not-so-vast reaches of her closet when Mulder called a few hours after she left the office. Hoping his answer might prevent her from packing one of everything she owned, "just in case," she'd inquired as to their destination while pulling shirts from their hangers, gauging their suitability. 

"Well, we're not leaving the country," he quipped.

"Mulder..."

"It's a surprise, Scully." An undercurrent of excitement flowed through his voice as he helpfully suggested, "Just pack as if you have no idea where you're going."

Exasperated, she threw up her hands, sending a dusky pink shell flying. "I don't have any idea, Mulder!"

"Then your problem's solved." 

Apparently sensing a few choices words were headed in his direction, he had hung up, leaving her in no less of a clothing quandary than before. Finally, she decided that if this getaway was meant to keep their minds and bodies occupied, she was at least going to be comfortable. Well-worn jeans, t-shirts and a couple of pullovers, a light blue tank dress, and the Yankees jersey she'd pilfered from Mulder's chest of drawers all went neatly into her bag. Uncertain of the ground they'd be covering, she had included a pair of sandals, her thick-soled, brown Doc Martens, and her favorite tennis shoes. 

Lying in the inky blackness, the room flooded now and then by the headlights of a passing car, she decided she was as prepared as possible for whatever adventure Mulder was concocting for them. 

This seemed so important to him. Her first inclination had been to hole up in the false security of her home and wait out the weekend. But she knew that it would mean tensing at every sharp trill of the phone until Dr. Zuckerman called, either to pronounce sentence or pardon her for a little while longer. But while sitting in the basement office that afternoon, she'd done more than read the same police report thirty-six times. She'd remembered autopsying a little girl named Audrey Akins and how the fine, blonde hair and big, blue eyes forever closed in slumber almost mirrored Emily's. 

That case had renewed sorrow and feelings of futility and sent her retreating behind painstakingly constructed walls, where she had resolved to mourn alone. Little by little, Mulder chisled away chunks of stone until he'd made a path into her world. Recognizing her need for privacy and her animalistic tendency to hide when wounded, he hadn't insisted she abandon her shelter, only offered to share it with her. From that point on, they'd bared their emotions -- not as often as their bodies, but it had been a  
turning point. 

And then a few droplets of blood had stained Mulder's chest, possibly setting her back in more ways than one. She'd realized this, sitting lost in thought over the police file that afternoon, as she sensed his eyes imploring her to turn around and talk to him. Ignoring for the moment that he hadn't always been so eager to listen, she'd done them both a favor and made the first overtures. 

Scully craned her neck to read the dim, red clock display. 12:23 am. Mulder was late. Before they'd gotten on the subject of what the well-dressed FBI agent on a vacation of unknown destination would pack, he'd told her to expect him around midnight. Prattling about rentals and reservations, he'd promised their accomodations would be interesting. 

Interesting. The cracker box quality motels they'd slept in across the country were all interesting, but she'd be damned if she was going to spend a vacation in one. And she told him as much. Invoking his customary "trust me, Scully," he'd left her to her own arrangements. 

Next, she made a quick, uninformative call to her mother -- Scully had found from previous experience that it was simpler to tell her as little as possible. She suspected any news idled in Margaret Scully's mind for no longer than it took to dial Bill and Tara's number, and would just as soon not give her brother any more ammunition against Mulder. If the test results weren't good, she'd face them then. 

Dr. Zuckerman had already gone home for the day, so she left her cell phone number with his service, along with a message she'd be gone for several days. She knew all too well what the prognosis would be if the cancer had recurred, and given the treatment options, it wouldn't matter if she and Mulder took their time returning to D.C. 

Rolling over onto her stomach, she bunched her pillow into a big, downy mound, wrapping her arms around it and propping up her chin. The swoosh of the air conditioner cut off just in time for her to hear the clinking of keys in her front door. Scully turned her head to call a warning for Mulder to look out for the bags sitting in the middle of the living room. She was cut short by a thud, followed closely by an "Oomph" and then "Shit!"

She snickered over her shoulder at him as he stumbled into the room. "Drop in again sometime, Mulder." 

"I think I broke my toe, Scully," he winced. Falling onto the bed, he tugged his shoes off, and grabbing the back of the ragged, gray sweatshirt, yanked it over his head.

"Want me to kiss it?" She shifted over, flipping back the covers for him to crawl under. 

"Oooo, kinky," he teased. With a groan, he swung his legs up and slipped them under the bedding. Turning on his side to face her, his arm fell heavily across her back. "Did you get everything taken care of?"

She wiggled out from under him. It was like sleeping with a dead man when he came to her exhausted. She rolled over and scooted back against him, reaching back to wrap his arm around her waist. Now they fit. "Yes," she answered. "What time are we leaving? 

"Hmm... 'bout four." Mulder rubbed his chin on the top of her head, either nuzzling her or scratching an itch, she couldn't tell. 

Hoping his drowsy state would loosen his tongue, she persisted, "Mulder, are you sure you don't want to tell me where we're going?"

"Doesn't matter, Scully." Capturing her hand in his, he held her closer. "Getting there's half the fun."

At that, she gave up, stretching to set the alarm. Not an easy task with an octopus hugging you, she thought. At last able to relax, she allowed weariness and Mulder's deep breaths to carry her into sleep. 

 

Four hours later, they were heading West on I-70, the early morning hour leaving the highway sparsely dotted with cars. Promising her the wheel as soon as he needed a break, Mulder suggested she finish her night's sleep. Not quite awake enough to argue, Scully let the seat back as far as it would go and curled up on her left side. She dozed off and on at first, wispy dreams of childhood vacations playing in her subconscious.

Billy, Missy, Charlie, and she... all huddled in the back of the station wagon, their mother having hustled them into the car, still in their pajamas. William Scully believed in getting an early start, and the first day of any car trip -- to the beach, the amusement park with the rickety wooden roller coaster, Uncle Alfred's house in the mountains -- all began in the dead of night. Usually they were barely out of town before the younger Scullys had drifted off, the sway of the car and their parents' murmured whispers from the front seat as effective as any lullaby. 

Lying in the car now, her lullaby was the aroma of Mulder's coffee and the soothing rhythm of the tires rolling over the highway's bumpy reflectors. The combination finally rocking her to sleep, she hardly registered the gentle weight coming to rest on her thigh. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The long hours of driving in complete silence, save for the pleasant hum of the car's motor and the gentle sighing snore of the woman next to him, were starting to make his eyes cross. Scully needed her sleep, and he hated to chance waking her, but driving the car into a tree wouldn't do much for her either. Mind made up, he reached for the radio dial.

He was on his third pass through the radio's frequencies, searching in vain for music that didn't make his skin crawl, when she busted him.

"Mulder?"

"Yesssss?" He recognized just from her tone that the next few miles were going to be rocky. 

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully shifted in her seat, bringing her feet down from the dashboard. She rotated them back and forth at the ankles as if they were stiff. 

Setting the car on cruise control, he reached for the channel select button. "I'm trying to find a radio station that's playing something other than 'Coal Miner's Daughter'."

"Good luck." Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and attempted to restore order. "We still in West Virginia?"

Mulder glanced down at the odometer. "Yep. Sixty more miles or so and we'll hit Kentucky."

"And then?"

"Then we'll keep driving down the highways and by-ways, seeing the Bluegrass State -- home of Abe Lincoln, mint juleps, and the Kentucky Wildcats." He settled more comfortably into place, eager to discuss the finer points of college basketball. "You know, they never should have let Rick Pitino escape to the pros... might ha--"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her look of impatience just before she interrupted him. "Mulder... are we ever going to stop and get out of the damn car for any length of time?"

"Oooh, deja vu, Scully." He grinned and winked at her, hoping to tease her out of the "woke up on the wrong side of the car" mood she seemed to be in. They'd certainly been driving a long time -- eight hours since leaving Georgetown, and he was feeling the need to stretch his legs, too. But somehow, he suspected there was more to her grouchy disposition. 

"What?" She turned to stare at him.

"You asked me almost the same question," he reminded her. "...on our way to Area 51 last year."

Her stare shifted from his face to focus for a few moments on the horizon ahead. When she finally spoke, her voice was weary and carried a trace of resentment. "I didn't get a straight answer then either, as I recall." 

"You got the only one I knew to give you at the time." Mulder reflexively clenched his jaw and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sometimes he thought walking through an unmapped minefield would be easier than talking to Scully. "It's not like you've always been forthcoming with answers yourself, Scully." He shot a look in her direction, trying to gauge her reaction, realizing his own frustration was about to get the better of him. "Do you know how infuriating it is to hear 'I'm fine' every damn time I ask how you are? When it's obvious you're nowhere near fine?"

If her seatbelt and the moving car hadn't prevented it, Mulder was sure she would have gotten out and stormed off seething. "If you're already so certain of my feelings, then why the hell do you ask, Mulder?!" 

"Because I love you!" The endearment uttered on the rarest of intimate occasions tore from the depths of his chest. Then, as if his voice was spent, he whispered, "Because... until lately it was the only way I stood a chance of maybe learning the truth." Realizing the car's speed had risen along with his voice, he eased up on the gas as he added with a glance in her direction, "It's not like you volunteer the information."

"I tried that once before, Mulder." The gaze she'd pinned on him turned to her thumbnail as she used it to scrape at a non-existent stain on her jeans. Resentfulness faded into sadness. "It didn't get me very far."

"What are you talking about?"

Taking a long breath, she released it in a sigh. "A few years ago... when I returned from meeting Penny Northern the first time, from seeing Betsy Hagopian in the hospital and learning she had cancer," she paused before continuing, her voice hollow. "I couldn't grasp what I heard, what it meant for me. I was scared, Mulder... and I... I tried to tell you that." She looked at him then, her eyes wet. "Do you remember what you said?"

"I...I think I...said something about you being fine as far as we knew."

She met his glance with a raised eyebrow. "Guess I'm not the only one fixated on that word." 

A speeding eighteen-wheeler bore down on them from behind, so Mulder slowed to let the driver go around him. The few moments of silence as the two vehicles manuevered past each other allowed him time to consider her words. "So what are you saying, Scully? That the reason you barricade yourself behind closed doors, the reason you hide your feelings from me is because I didn't take you seriously enough then?"

"No...Mulder. I'm not saying that." The gentleness that normally imbued her voice when the two of them were alone began to creep back into her words. "But if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, and with you," she paused, picking at a torn fingernail. "I'd have to admit to personal issues involving a loss of control, a fear of making myself vulnerable... factors that combine to make me feel as though I have to protect myself." 

She turned to look at him. "But I tried to let you know I was afraid, Mulder, and it burned when you dismissed me." 

His heart constricted at her admission. That she might have ever considered him callous where her health or safety were concerned threatened to pull him apart. Especially when it couldn't be further from the truth. Although he wasn't sure she understood that. "Scully, what was it like up in the Arctic when you were waiting for me to regain consciousness?"

She considered his question before offering a halting answer. "Terrifying. Frustrating.. having done all I could, but not knowing if it was enough. Painful... to... to see you lying there." He glanced at her when she finished speaking and found her gaze fixed intently on him. 

He further offered, "A waking nightmare you pray you never experience again."

"God, yes." As though to clear her mind of images she'd rather not recall, Scully shook her head and then leaned wearily against the car door. 

"That's how I feel... how I felt then." His voice filled with admiration, he continued, "You're so strong, Scully... even then you were. Knock you down and somehow... you always hauled yourself back up." Allowing himself the barest of contact, he slowly stroked his index finger over the back of her hand as it rested in her lap. "I'd already lived my waking nightmare, and guess what -- you had top billing." Withdrawing from her space, he returned his hand to the wheel. "When the possibility of cancer entered the picture, I didn't want to believe I'd ever that sort of nightmare again."

"Fox Mulder? Not want to believe?" she asked, a waver in her voice and a fleeting smile on her face.

"What can I say, Scully? I'm chickenshit when it comes to you." His self-deprecating admission was solemn. "It was easier to pretend the danger wasn't there." 

She nodded, apparently recognizing the sentiment. "I can understand that now, Mulder, but it still hurt at the time." 

Exchanging a look that spoke of having weathered an assault on their shared stronghold and emerging battered but alive, Mulder traced the side of her face and cupped her jaw in his hand. She nuzzled him and said, "We've traveled a long way, haven't we?" Her eyes held promises as she drew away from him. "Not that we don't have further to go." 

Mulder smiled at her and then turned his attention back to the highway. Now that his heart was no longer in his throat, he thought it time to silence the gnawing sound in his stomach. "I'm not planning to go any further than the next exit right now. Sign back there promised food and gas." 

"Sounds like your kind of restaurant, Mulder." 

Taking the exit for East Pea Ridge, they found themselves following signs down winding mountain roads. It was hard to see how the little community could be classified as a town. There was the odd ramshackled house backed up against the side of the mountain, or perched on a "one step and you're a goner" cliff, accessible only by the narrowest of dirt and coal-stained gravel lanes. Not until they passed a monsterous hulk of a building, the site of Love's Surface Mining, Co. according to the sign, did they  
find any sign of life. 

Coming to a halt at the stop light, the only one in town as far as they could see, they watched a crowd of miners cross the street. The workers were so blackened with coal dust, it was impossible to tell whether equal opportunity had made it to East Pea Ridge. One by one they entered a small Mom and Pop style diner, the type that had seen its hey-day a good forty years earlier. Outside of which, a sign proclaimed: "Salisbury steak and fries -- $7.95. Next restaurant -- 53 miles."

"Well... at least we don't have to worry about making a choice." Mulder eased the car into a spot beside a two table outdoor dining area. Somehow he suspected Scully would want to make a quick getaway once they finished their meal. They locked the doors and began walking toward the little white building that was about as wide as it was tall. 

She slipped her hand in his and gave him the look she saved especially for those "you've got to be kidding" occasions. "The Kountry Kettle?" 

"Bet we can get a great chicken-fried steak here." Mulder grinned down at her when she planted her feet, dragging him to stop. 

"You expect me to trust they'll cook my steak well enough to eliminate all traces of E.coli, when they can't even correctly spell 'country'?"

Before the words were barely out of her mouth, he muttered, "I'm starving, Scully," then wrapped one long, finely muscled arm low around her waist. He snatched her up until she leaned fully on his chest, her arms circling his neck to help support her weight. Mulder's mouth took hers with no preamble, sucking and nipping at each lip, his tongue chasing hers in a frantic game of tag. Finally lifting his head from hers with a deceptively chaste peck, he asked, "How 'bout you?"

"Famished." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kountry Kettle boasted a wide selection of chicken-fried meats, as Mulder had suspected. Opting to take their basket of chicken strips, on which Scully insisted on performing autopsies before consumption, and fries to the outdoor seating, they ate with little discussion. Until he filched the last of her fries while she watched the group of miners heading back to work.

"Mulder, I was going to eat those."

"I' buy 'ou an i'cream," he promised, smiling around a mouthful of fries. Taking the napkin she held out, he swallowed and brushed at his mouth before attempting to speak again. "Probably never heard of tofutti dreamsicles around here."

She scooted her plastic chair with the wiggly seat until she sat thigh to thigh with him. Draping her arm across his shoulders, she whispered into his ear. "I'd rather you told me where we're going."

"I'll put it to you this way, Scully." He waggled his eyebrows before continuing. "You've probably never been anywhere like it before." 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

With a surreptitious glance at the sleeping man to her right, Scully eased her arm back and behind Mulder's seat, straining to keep her foot on the accelerator while her fingertips inched toward the box of doughnuts on the floorboard. 

As their vacation was of the hastily-arranged variety, neither of them had remembered to load the car with the essential travel snacks. So, when they'd pulled into a service station just after leaving the Kountry Kettle, she had suggested she purchase something for dessert. She knew Mulder expected her to return with the closest approximation to pollinated yogurt or fake ice cream, as he called it, that a convenience store could offer. She'd taken satisfaction in the way his eyes had widened at the sight of that white and green polka-dotted box. 

He'd helpfully offered to hold the box while she drove, a suspicious offer if she'd ever heard one. She gave in, provided he kept handing over the gooey, fried concoctions of yeast and sugar. They covered several miles through one of the narrow Appalachian valleys mumbling around bites of heaven and licking sticky fingers clean. 

For purely altruistic reasons, Mulder had directed her to stop alongside a fenced-in field, so he could divest her of the flaky glaze clinging to the corners of her mouth. Apparently finding a sweetness foreign to the Krispy Kreme manufacturers, he'd continued searching for the stray fallen crumb. He must have thought her to be an astonishingly messy eater as his clean-up forced him to tug aside the neck of her shirt, sucking and nibbling mightily along the delicate ridge of her collarbone in order to remove the most stubborn doughnut bits. 

Despite squirming in her seat and making soft, yet impatient sounding moans for a more thorough tongue bath, Scully managed to spot an invisible wandering morsel stuck to the curve of his ear. She was attacking it with enthusiasm when something wet met the car window with a slurp. They turned in unison to find a twelve hundred pound dairy cow leaning over the fence with her tongue plastered to the glass. Laughing, they'd separated and eased back onto the roadway, leaving their bovine disruption to her fence. 

They'd spent the next couple of hours mostly in companionable silence. Crossing the Big Sandy River had ushered them into Eastern Kentucky, and Scully continued to guide them over winding, two lane strips of gray, over sharp ridges and down into green valleys dotted with small farms. Mulder's hand caressed her thigh, the slow back and forth motion creating a steady buzz running through her body. She'd begun considering, not for the first time, if the more expansive rear seating Ford promised in their new models would be expansive enough for what she had in mind, when she realized the hand stimulating such thoughts had fallen still. 

Having successfully plucked the last doughnut from the box, she looked over at him and smiled. Still dead to the world. His head was turned toward her, his body slumped in the car seat in exhaustion. He must be worn out, she thought. Neither of them had slept more than three hours before hitting the road, and she suspected his sleep had been as fitful as hers in the hours immediately following the nosebleed. 

The mere thought sent a shuddering chill through her body, an icy grip on her heart. Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled, trying to recapture her fugitive serenity. She had done all the right things. At the first hint of relapse, she'd seen her doctor, had the tests performed which would give her a clear picture of what they were dealing with...as she'd told Mulder, it was too early to make assumptions. The best thing she could do for herself -- that they could do for each other -- was relax. 

Eating the lone surviving doughtnut with as much care as the sinfully delicious creation required, she considered their current adventure. Though still very much in the dark as to all the wheres and whats -- when she took the wheel, he'd instructed her, "Drive until you come to a pig." -- the why had become increasingly clear. 

In the months since they'd become lovers, their time spent together had come in snatches: the odd evening in front of the television, lunches during the week when they refused to discuss cases, nights devoted to slow, lazy lovemaking. It was enough to sustain them, but the status quo couldn't last forever. Apparently Mulder saw the newest upheaval in their lives as an opportunity to raise the bar in their relationship, to isolate themselves, and if their earlier discussion was any indication, to heal old wounds. 

In many ways, that frightened her. She'd told him the truth -- losing control left her stripped naked, vulnerable, not only to those who sought to destroy their lives, but even to the one who simply wanted to love her. By opening herself to Mulder and allowing him to know her thoughts and her fears, she would hand him the instrument which could cause her the most pain. If she didn't let him in, then she stood to hurt him, even as she protected herself.

She'd had to decide long ago if the benefits out-numbered potential suffering. Turning her head to steal a glance at the man sleeping beside her, she knew she'd made the only right choice. 

Facing the road again, she followed it through yet another rural community. White, paint-chipped, wood frame houses sporting sprawling front porches, often with an elderly man or two sitting in rocking chairs on them, lined the shady main street. The most modern looking building was the box shaped, brick city hall and post office. A Family Dollar store shared space with Big Star Grocery and what appeared to be Lesley's Boutique of Fine Apparel, at least according to the calligraphy sign standing up in the window. Obviously not a fan of alliteration, Scully thought. 

They'd just passed the tiny Calvary Baptist Church, its sign inviting all to their monthly Sunday dinner on the grounds, when she felt the hand on her leg flex. 

"Have you found the pig, Scully?"

She grinned and continued watching the road, instead of the man who was straightening up beside her. "There was a slab of bacon hanging in the window of the Big Star back there, but I don't think that's what you had in mind." 

He chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll know it when you see it."

"Mmm, okay." Stopped for a light beside a low, metal building, painted in bright colors befitting the site of Miss Marianne's Happy Day Preschool, Scully searched Mulder's face. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a log. I had a disturbing dream though... dreamed you ate the last doughnut without offering me any." He tilted his head toward her as his voice dropped a register. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Scully?"

Composing her expression into what she hoped was a guilt-free one, she casually brushed her fingers across her mouth. "Mulder, you should know that not every dream has a significant basis in reality. That sometimes what a person dreams is simply an illusion... a... an hallucin--"

"Scully, pull over!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Scully, pull over!"

"Mulder, wha--"

"Just pull over! In front of that building."

Thinking he'd seen something questionable, she brought the car to a stop in front of a building that had seen better days. It was once a school, judging by the flag pole standing naked in front and the rusting monkey bars and warped slide just to the side. Mulder was out of the car and headed behind the building at a slow jog before the vehicle had barely stopped. 

He called to her over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner. "C'mon, Scully!"

Deciding his response was not that of an FBI agent after all, and more that of an overgrown kid, she shook her head and started after him. 

The school's windows were boarded up. The writing on the plywood was the scribbles of bored-with-summer children, not the gang-related grafitti she was so used to seeing in D.C. Tall grass mixed liberally with weeds had Scully watching her step, hoping to avoid landing in the hospital with a snake bite. As she rounded the corner of the building, she saw that the ground dropped in a steep incline before leveling off. A dense stand of pine trees grew opposite the back of the school. Down in the hollow between the edge of the woods and the hill, Mulder stood on a black-top basketball court with a single basketball goal at one end.

"Look, Scully!" He spread his arms almost as wide as the grin on his face. "A basketball court!" 

She stood at the top of the hill, her hands on her hips, and slowly nodded her head. "I can see that, Mulder. What are you doing standing on it?"

"We need some exercise -- been cooped up in the car too long." He offered. "Care to join me in a little hoop action, Scully?" 

"We don't have a ball, Mulder."

"Well, you may not have one, Scully, but I've got --" He stopped at the look on her face. "What? I was just going to say that I carry one in my trunk for just such emergencies."

"Emergencies," she repeated. "Heaven forbid you should have a first aid kit in there." The man below her put on his most soulful expression, leaning his head to one side and staring up at her until she folded. "Okay, okay. I'll get the ball." 

 

Once he had the ball in his hands, Mulder was in his element. Behaving for all the world like a teenager showing off for his girlfriend, he dribbled the ball from half court to the foul line, breaking into a run for a perfect lay-up. The ball dropped neatly through the chain netting. Glancing every time over to where she sat on the asphalt, he sank shot after shot from around the imaginary three-point arc, the paint long since having worn away. 

His closely-cropped hair glistening with the sweat he'd worked up, Mulder came to a halt in front of her and held out the ball. "C'mon, Scully... a little one on one free throw shooting. We'll just play to ten. I'll even spot you five points." 

His tone was so sincere, the look on his face innocent and earnest. She looked at him and was reminded once more of the depth of love she felt for this man. It almost made her sorry she had to kick his ass. 

"Sure, Mulder." Pushing herself up, she took the proffered ball from his hand. "Me first?" 

"Be my guest. We'll shoot until one of us misses, and then it's the other person's turn." 

"Fine." 

She took her place behind the foul line, her right foot just a bit ahead of her left. As Mulder headed toward the goal to rebound for her, he called over his shoulder. "Be sure to bend your knees a little, Scully. Concentrate on the back of the rim and try to arc the ball."

As she experimentally dribbled the ball a few times, getting used to the feel of it against her hand, it took her back. Back to the days of scrambling for a loose ball in the driveway of whichever military housing they were in at the time. Of elbows in the face and six arms upraised under the net, of jostling with Billy and Charlie for position. She could still hear her impatient coaches teaching her the finer points of free throw shooting, so she could help them beat the Genzel kids down the street. Focusing on the front of the rim and not the back, as so many amateurs made the mistake of doing, proved to be the key to her team's success.

Flash forward twenty years as she crouched low and lofted the ball into the air. Two pairs of eyes watched it float gracefully to the basket where it dropped in pretty as a picture. 

Four more such baskets later, Scully strolled toward Mulder as he retrieved the ball. "That was five, wasn't it?" She smiled a cheshire grin as he came to stand in front of her. "And with the five points you spotted me, I think that makes ten." 

"Scully, you amaze me." 

She felt her face heat up, and dipped her head for a second before raising it. Demonstrating the technique, she instructed, "It's all in the wrist action, Mulder. All in the wrist." 

"Wrist action, huh?" His eyes took on a devilish gleam, and he tossed the ball over his shoulder.

She nodded. "That's right." 

Her eyes went wide as he began to slowly advance toward her. Even as her heartbeat quickened in anticipation, she kept a step from him by backing away. His strides lengthened though, and he easily caught her as she stumbled into the square goal post. "Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Shhh...I'll show you wrist action, Scully." 

He placed both hands on her hips, his thumbs sneaking under her shirt to make tiny strokes against the sensitive skin. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her without hesitation. Their lips clung, sliding over each other as they sought fuller contact. His tongue traced her upper lip, seeking entrance. Opening her mouth to him, she savored the unique taste she'd come to crave. Lazy kisses lingered as tongues explored mouths, returning to tangle together.

When a light breeze ruffled her hair, sending strands tickling her cheeks, she remembered where they were. Making an effort to remind him, she turned her head to the side. Undeterred, he strung kisses along her jaw as she panted. "Mulder...we can't...do--"

The flick of the button on her jeans and the slow parting of her zipper sent a shudder rippling from her head to her toes, taking her words with it. Her head thudded back against the post as he pressed nipping kisses down her neck. Her knees buckled when, with a quick twist of his wrist, he slid his hand under her panties. 

Slipping his free arm around her waist, he held her close and began a gentle assault with his other hand on hot, wet folds. His fingers slipped effortlessly over her, teasing her by only grazing the spot she most needed to feel them. Frustrated with his indirectness, she whimpered and pressed herself against his hand. She groaned with relief when he set up a slow circling, quickly bringing the low thrum in her center to a pounding roar. 

Mulder's New York Knicks could have been playing the game of their lives on that court, and Scully wouldn't have known the difference. Between the whispered urgings in her ear and the rolling waves of her climax, she was lost in a storm of sensation. Instinctively digging her nails into his back, her body stiffened as just the right caress sent rippling contractions from deep within her abdomen to her swollen clitoris. 

Her teeth closed over her lower lip as he continued to fondle her, drawing out the orgasm until the pulsating stopped. She dropped her head forward onto his shoulder and clutched his arms for support. They stood still for a moment, both gasping for breath, until he slowly withdrew his hand. Scully lifted her head to find him staring at her with the look that she could never see too often. As he went about refastening her jeans, she scrubbed her hands over her face. 

"I can't believe we just did that here, Mulder." 

He ducked his head to catch her eye and grinned. "Gives a whole new meaning to 'He shoots! He scores!' hey, Scully?"

Groaning a laugh, she put both arms around his waist and rested her cheek over his heart. He returned the embrace, and they stood swaying under the afternoon sun for long minutes. 

"I wish we had a bed right now." 

His hands roamed over her back as his voice rumbled under her ear. "Tired, Agent Scully?"

She pulled back to look up at him with a mock serious expression and shook her head. "No." 

He chuckled and took her hand, starting for the hill they'd descended earlier. Stopping to grab the long forgotten basketball, he promised. "Don't worry, Scully. There's a bed in  
your future, and you'll never guess where it is." 

Side by side, they climbed the steep embankment. Scully stole looks at him as they walked back to the car. "What, no clues, Mulder?"

He didn't answer until they were in the car and he had plucked the keys out of her hand. "How do you feel about being surrounded by the scents of fresh earth and buffalo hides?"

~~~~~~~~

Mulder shook Scully awake and pointed to the gigantic sow posing as a Welcome to Pig, Kentucky sign. She blinked her eyes and followed his pointing finger. Turning to gape at him in disbelief, she then looked back at the pink monstrosity as they drove by it. "That's definitely a pig, Mulder."

It was dusk by the time they approached the Pig city limits around dusk, and he was more than ready to stop for the night. Since their very personal game of one-on-one, which he'd graciously allowed her to win, his body had hummed with desire for her. All he wanted for tonight was a bed in a quiet place and the chance to lose himself in her, for her to feel as alive as she had made him. That the location he had chosen was also high on his List of Strange Places to Have Sex... well, that just made it all the better. 

"Mulder? Why are we stopping here?" She slammed the car door and turned to look at him, her face a mask of confusion. 

"Here" was Wigwam Village #2 on the border between Pig and Cave City. A motor court from the days of Ozzie and Harriet, it boasted a large, pointed, central wigwam which housed the office. Fourteen of the smaller, concrete structures sat in a semi-circle behind them. 

"This is where we're spending the night." 

It was amazing, really, the way she contorted her face. Her eyebrows climbed, even as her jaw dropped and she tucked her chin in toward her chest. "In a wigwam?"

"It's the last Wigwam Village left in the country. Eleanor Roosevelt once visited and wrote about it in her column, 'My Day'." Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as he'd hoped. He shifted from one foot to the other, not solely because he hadn't peed since West Virginia. "I thought that alone would appeal to you, Scully."

"We're going to sleep in a wigwam?" 

Shit. He'd heard that intonation before, the memory of a late night phone call whispering in his ear. 

"Well, I was hoping we'd do more than that, but yes." Reaching out, he hooked his index finger in one of the belt loops on her jeans and drew her along with him as he headed for the office. "C'mon, Scully -- this might be your last chance to sleep with an Indian Guide in his wigwam." 

 

Scully's mood seemed to brighten when she found a nicely decorated, typical motel room hidden away in the cone-shaped building. Though small, the space held a double bed fashioned from hickory and a private bathroom with a gleaming, claw-footed tub that brought forth a squeal of delight from its red-haired inspector. 

Having brought their bags in, Mulder left her to wash away the grit and grime of the road and set out to find them something for dinner. A quick inquiry to the desk clerk had him heading back into Pig to find the restaurant widely thought of as the best in town. The fact that it was the only one in town apparently didn't factor into the equation. As promised, it wasn't hard to miss, and soon he was on his way back to the wigwam with his catch of the day. 

She had finished her bath when he returned and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, combing her steam-curled hair. Seeing her clad only in his stolen Yankees jersey, nearly made him abandon all thoughts of sustenance in favor of quenching a more primal hunger. But when her eyes lit up at the white styrofoam containers, he decided it would be better to eliminate all distractions first. 

He joined her on the bed and spread out the food. To her credit, discovering from the printed napkins that their meal came from the Porky Pig Diner caused only a moment's hesitation. When he pointed out the numerous pork products he could have bought and then waved the homemade strawberry shortcake for later under her nose, she acquiesed. They dug into crispy, fried catfish with abandon. Judging by the rapturous look on her face at the first bite of the luscious dessert, he'd made the right choice. 

Needing to wash off his own topsoil, he moved into the bathroom while she finished eating. He emerged a while later, wearing a towel around his waist with dampness quickly chilling his skin -- until he saw Scully. 

She was on her knees in the middle of the bed, bending away from him to untuck the spread and sheets from underneath the pillows. The soft fabric of his shirt caressed her round ass. All thoughts of being cold fled as heat rose, spreading throughout his body, from his full erection to the tips of his fingers and toes. Any weariness from the long day's journey vanished as he moved to kneel behind her. 

With the dip of his weight on the mattress, she started to turn toward him, but he stopped her. 

"Muld--" Her voice carried a question.

"Shush," he whispered. "No words." To soften his command, he ran the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, gently directing her face forward. His hands trailed heavily down her back to cup the swells of muscle and flesh in front of him, rubbing the material up and over her hips. He felt her shudder as her head fell forward, her hair hanging in a riotous tangle between her arms. Any thoughts of languid loving disappeared when she clutched the sheets in tight fists and rocked back against him, her softness pressing, circling his hardness. The roughness of the towel on his highly sensitized penis was all he could stand, and with a quick jerk, he tossed the hindering cloth to the floor. 

Already puffing like a locomotive, he nudged her legs to rest outside his. He ran the fingers of one hand up and down the length of her inner thighs as she snaked a hand between her legs, arching at the touch. Batting her hand away, he took over the caress, feeling her swell and soften for him. As he continued to stroke her clit, never giving her quite the pressure he knew she needed, he entered her with one sure movement. 

Ohhh, so good. With the miniscule part of his brain that was still cognitive, he wondered if the day would ever come when this initial moment of re-introduction would feel commonplace, something other than complete surrender. She held him tightly in her fiery grasp, and yet he had never felt so free. Free to pour all the passion he had for her into this most intimate of acts -- passion sublimated for professionalism during the day became fulfilled desire in stolen hours in the dark. 

Having given her time to adjust to his presence in her body, Mulder pulled back slowly, wet flesh clinging to him, and thrust his way in again. Lingering retreat. Sudden charge. Scully picked up his rhythm and slammed back to meet his every return. 

Needing to feel more of her, he sat back on his heels and pulled her into his lap so that she straddled him. His hands smoothed over the silky skin of her stomach, gliding up to hold her breasts under the shirt. He scraped one fingernail around each areola, feeling them wrinkle tighter and her nipples harden. At the extra stimulation, she groaned and arched her back again, her head falling to rest on his shoulder. Taking advantage of the opportunity presented, he lightly bit down where neck and shoulder met, soothing the marks with his tongue. 

He felt her hand drift from the hold she'd had on his forearm as he kneaded and stroked her breasts. Prying his eyes open, he  
inhaled sharply at what he saw. 

A painting hung above the headboard, the likeness of a Native American in full ceremonial regalia, but the picture reflected in the glass captured Mulder's attention. The two of them joined as one, rocking against each other in an increasingly frantic pace, and the unbearably erotic sight of Scully's hand moving from caressing herself to cradling his balls. 

Unable to keep his eyes on them any longer, he turned his face into her neck and disobeyed his own command for silence with a litany of murmurs. "comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon..." Answering his plea, her body went taut and then quivered as her inner muscles fluttered wildly against him. A feral growl rose from her throat. 

It was enough to send him plunging over the edge after her. Clutching her to him tightly, his hips bucked with enough force to raise them both, and he cried out as he flooded her. 

They sank back onto the bed, both gasping for air. Mulder continued to hold her close, pressing kisses to her shoulders, the back of her neck. He reveled in the feeling of her finding the same release he'd sought, her body still shaking in his arms, until he realized her tremors were for another reason. 

Brushing his lips across her ear, he whispered, "Hey... you okay, Scully?"

She nodded her head, but then moved from his lap to face him. Tears shimmered above her lower lashes and she fought to keep them from falling. Alarmed, he reached for her. "Scully, what's wrong?"

Tilting her head, her eyes mapping every inch of his face, she admitted, "I'm scared." She angrily shook her head, causing one tear to break its hold. "I can't... I can't lose this connection...what happens when we're together... the way I feel with you." 

"You won't!" he declared fiercely. Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her against him, feeling her warm breath on his neck. He buried his face into her hair and nuzzled her forehead as his hands swept slowly up and down her back. Though he rejoiced in the openness of her admission, he was determined her fears -- their fears -- would be unfounded. Barely a sussuration in the stillness, he promised, "We won't."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Since Mulder declined to drop hints as to their next destination, Scully hoped they were just passing through when he shook her awake just outside Memphis. But when he began to mumble "I'm goin' to Graceland, Graceland... Memphis, Tennessee. I'm goin' to Graceland, Graceland." she knew her luck had run out. 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It wasn't that she had bad memories associated with the city itself, but over two years later, she still could recall Mulder's voice as she'd asked him where he was going on his Bureau-imposed vacation. He'd left for Memphis, and she'd left for Philadelphia -- on her own journey. Both had led them right back to the basement office and to each other, and she suspected neither one of them ever understood exactly how close  
they'd come to losing everything.

Here they were, years later and still on the verge of loss, though not by their own hands. They arrived at The Peabody, a posh hotel billed as "The South's Grand Hotel," without any indication from Mulder that he noticed her growing discomfort and darkening mood. That alone gave her an unwelcome feeling of deja vu. 

It was a shame, too. Years of nights spent in cheap, generic motels often made her long that once... just once, the Bureau would foul up their travel arrangements and book them in a hotel as elegant as this one. The lobby was dressed by deep, rich colors, and overlooked on all sides by balconies. Stuffed, elegant chairs and sofas sat in arrangements perfect for conversation or for listening to the glossy grand piano off to one side. An ornate, marble fountain occupied the center of the lobby, as well as the attention of most of the guests enjoying drinks at the bar or an early afternoon tea. As she and Mulder walked past, she realized what everyone found so fascinating -- five mallard ducks blissfully paddling in the water. The bellman was only too happy to invite them to the lobby at eight that evening, in order to see the ducks march along their red carpet to the elevator. There they would ride up to their home on the rooftop, fulfilling a daily sixty year tradition. 

Yes, this was just the sort of place she would have liked to stay with Mulder -- under different circumstances, and if she weren't feeling peevish toward the man exploring their plush room with abandon. This wasn't how she saw things progressing after what they'd shared last night, the raw intimacy as they'd made love and later, as she'd let him know her fears. But now she found herself returning in spirit to that day in his office, where they were on two separate planes of existence.

"Nice set-up they've got here." His voice echoed off the tiled walls in the bathroom. "But I bet those ducks downstairs get the luxury accomodations."

She stood in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with herself, and came to the conclusion she needed some answers. "Mulder, what are we doing here?" He ought to be happy -- though it didn't have the impact of "Why don't I have a desk?", her question was at least more to the point.

Her query brought him to her, surprise and concern written on his face. "You don't like the hotel, Scully?" He ran one finger down her cheek and grinned. "I don't think Memphis is known for its wigwam villages, or we'd--" The grin disappeared with her interruption.

"I'm not talking about the hotel," she said, shaking her head and then focusing somewhere near his sternum, finding it difficult to look into his eyes. 

His hand dropped away from her. "Then what is it? I can't read your mind, Scully." 

At his exasperated tone, she chanced looking at his face. His eyes showed his confusion, a reaction that both saddened and annoyed her. "No, that's obvious."

"Okay, as far as I can see, you're trying to pick a fight, Scully." He raised his hands in seeming surrender and took a couple steps back. "There's something here you expect me to get, but I can't do that as long as you're dancing around the issue." As he spoke, his voice took on a harder edge, the tiny muscle on the left side of his jaw twitching in anger. "I want you to talk to me, but you're hiding behind veiled meanings, and I can't give you what you need when you do that."

"I guess not." She folded her arms across her chest and jutted out her chin defiantly. Deciding inexplicably, even to herself, to join him in reopening old hurts, her words stabbed at him. "You never understood why I wanted a desk in the basement."

Rubbing his forehead as though he had a killer headache, he barked a laugh. "No, I didn't. I didn't understand why you wanted a desk stuck down in the basement when you had a perfectly good one in your office upstairs." Facing her again, he shrugged. "Or for what reason my ass was in the fire for not presenting you one on a silver platter." 

She shook her head sadly and moved to look out the window. They were on the eighth floor overlooking a busy city street. Even on a late Sunday afternoon, the cars were bumper to bumper. The hotel's front door and awning were directly below their window, and a white horse-drawn carriage was parked at the curb. A young couple climbed in, a bottle of what appeared to be champagne going along for the ride. Despite all this activity, her fear, and inability to communicate it, was beginning to make her feel alone.

"If you wanted a desk, Scully, why not just requisition one for yourself?" 

She straightened her back, subconsciously following her father's order to "Buck up!" and turned to face him. "It was never about a desk, Mulder." 

"Yeah, I got that." He was angry, she knew, having recognized long ago that flippancy and sarcasm were his weapons of choice. "You wanna explain?"

Knowing this was a long time coming and wanting to get it right, she took a deep breath and began. "I just...didn't see myself having a place in the X-files, an acknowledgement that I'm was invested in them as you are..." She paused to try and swallow around the knot in her throat. "That I was more than just 'assigned' to them. I needed to know that then... especially then."

Mulder raised and dropped his arms to his side in a gesture of apparent futility. "God, Scully... who do you think I've been through hell and back with all these years?" He stared at her for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet and emphatic. "I know what your involvement with the X-files... with me...has cost you. Your own appearances in them are enough to make you invested."

His words failing to appease her, she nodded. "Yes, you didn't hesitate to remind me when I returned from Philadelphia." Though a part of her realized his mention of her presence in the files was not made with the callousness of his earlier barb, it still stung to hear the words again. "Was it really necessary to throw it in my face, to make a joke of it?"

"No, it wasn't. And I'm sorry I did. But your little episode with Ed Jerse fucking scared me out of my mind then, Scully. Not unlike I am now." His apology came with hoarseness in his voice and weariness in the set of his shoulders. "I get angry and I say things I don't mean when I'm scared. Maybe that makes us even," he surmised, grabbing his leather jacket from the chair. "I lash out and you shut me out." 

Before she had time to refute his words or stop him, he was out the door, not even giving her the satisfaction of slamming it. She sank into the nearest armchair and pulled her knees up to her chest, alone with her fear.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Thinking he might want to burn off some of his anger, she checked the hotel's athletic club first but came up empty. As she stepped off the elevator on her way to look in the bar, she spied him sitting on one of the sofas by the fountain. To anyone else, he was seemingly fascinated by the ducks' antics as they chased each other in circles, but her practiced eyes saw a man locked inside his own mind. 

She approached him slowly, as she might a wounded animal. He continued to stare straight ahead, giving no acknowledgement of her presence. Sitting beside him on the sofa, she mirrored his body, both of them hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely.

Silence reigned between them until Scully took a deep breath and turned to gaze at his profile, lightly asking, "Waiting for the ducks to make their exit?"

"I was hoping they'd invite me up to their pad. See how the well-to-do waterfowl lives." Shaking his head at his own humor, he returned her contemplation of him, his eyes hooded and solemn. "Are we ever going to get any better at this, Scully?"

"I think we have."

"Then what happened up there?" His question was sincere.

"Two immovable objects collided?" She bowed her head at his dismayed reaction, smiling to herself that she seemed to have picked up some of his deflection tactics. "I'm sorry." Laying her hand gently on his forearm, she admitted, "I did some thinking after you left, and... among other things, I think I've realized that... getting better at what we have between us doesn't mean there aren't going to be rough patches."

"Like today?"

She nodded. "Yes." Fighting her normal response to look away from him while revealing herself emotionally, she gazed steadily at him. "I think...I think I overreacted because... being here reminded me of... another time when I felt lost, when I'd had the first symptoms of my cancer, and suddenly I needed to know you recognized my value to the work..." Giving his arm a squeeze, she continued. "And I suppose if I were to be really honest... my value to you." 

Though she knew she needed to be honest with him, that it was what he professed to want, his crestfallen expression tore at her. She wanted to hold him, to be held. As if he'd heard her, he sat back on the sofa, drawing her with him until she was pressed to his side. His arm rested behind her, giving off warmth, but not quite touching her.

"Do you doubt those things now, Scully? After all this time? After us?"

"Usually, no." Shaking her head, she laid her hand over his heart, trying to reestablish a connection. "But the combination of an uncertain future and the reminder of a difficult period in our lives, in our partnership... it's made me a bit overly sensitive, I guess."

Finally he curved his arm around her shoulders. "I guess bringing you here didn't help either, huh?"

With a sad smile, she shook her head. For a few minutes they were quiet. Mulder appeared lost in thought as he watched the ducks enjoying their last moments in the water, while Scully kept her gazefixed on him. Then his brow furrowed and he looked to his side.

"Do you want to leave, Scully? Go on to our next stop... or home?"

She thought carefully before answering. "Wouldn't that be giving in?"

"I don't want you -- us -- to continue if you're miserable."

If the mood had been different, if the conversation had been any less important, she might have laughed out loud at the irony in his words. As one skilled in the language of metaphors and multiple meanings, she recognized immediately that his sentiment referred not only to this vacation. He had to understand her response covered every layer of his fear. 

Shifting to kneel on the sofa beside him, she ran her hand over the hair at the back of his neck and leaned close until they could almost rub noses. "Mulder, I'm not. I'm with you because I want to be." Helpless to resist the urge, she nuzzled him. "To the end." 

She knew the instant he believed her. His eyes lost their shadow and hope flickered once more. Nodding, he lifted her hand from its place on his chest and kissed her palm. Then, taking her by surprise he jumped to his feet and pulled her up after him.

"C'mon... while I was wandering the halls, I found something I want to do." 

She doubled her steps to keep up with him as they wove their way through the crowd gathered to watch the ducks march. "Don't you want to stay and see the ducks leave?"

"Nah, you see one duck ride an elevator, you've seen 'em all."

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Fifteen floors and one frantic grope in a blissfully empty elevator later, they stood in a narrow hallway leading to two swinging doors. Strains of music drifted from the other side, and through the windows taking up most of each door, Scully could see they were on the rooftop. The sun had dipped below the edge of the building, and tiny lights strung along the branches of several decorative trees illuminated the people dancing and milling around. 

Just as she was placing the song playing as "I've Got You Under My Skin," and finding a perverse amusement in it, Mulder shouldered his way through the doors, tugging her along with him. 

"Mulder, what are you doing? This looks like a private party."

He stopped and shook his head. "It's not, I checked. The conceirge told me they have this 'Sunset Serenade' once a week  
in the summer -- music and dancing."

A poster by the door announced that The Buonis was the guest band of the night, and a crowd of couples swayed to their music. Though the dress wasn't formal, she and Mulder were clearly the only ones wearing jeans and t-shirts. 

"Mulder, we're not dressed for --"

Grabbing her shoulders, he crouched to look into her eyes. "Are you ever going to see these people again, Scully?" At her sigh and smile of surrender, he gave her a playful shake. "Right." Placing his hand between her shoulder blades, he gently pushed her ahead of him as they skirted the dance floor.

The band switched to the sounds of "Yesterday" just as they discovered an alcove formed by the edge of the roof and a storage room. They ducked underneath the branches of the potted tree, likely positioned to discourage just what they were doing, and moved into each other's arms.

He tucked her right hand in his, holding it against his chest, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Resting her head on his shoulder, she followed the sway of his body, the tension flowing from hers with every movement. 

"How's this?" He bent his head and whispered. "No one will see us and we still have the music and the sunset." 

Lifting her heavy eyelids, she looked out over the skyline. The sun had already melted into the rolling Mississippi River, burnishing the water to golden tones. Lights blinked on in buildings as far as she could see, joining the glowing M that outlined Tennessee's link to Arkansas. The borrowed song reached them even in their hideaway... "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're here to stay." Snuggling closer under his arm, she decided Paul McCartney must have had premonitory visions of herself and Mulder when he penned those lyrics.

Allowing her eyes to drift shut, she murmured, "Mmmm...this feels good, Mulder." 

"Feels just like..." His voice trailed off into a chuckle.

She craned her neck to look up at him. "Like what?

"Feels just like it did in my dream."

"You dreamed we were dancing?" She grinned at him, absurdly happy to learn she occupied his dreams and not just his  
nightmares. "Where?"

Even in the dim light, she could make out embarrassment tinging his face as he sheepishly elaborated. "We were in sort of a night club in this small town... Cher was performing, and we were dressed for work, but... we danced."

Trying to conjure up the image in her own mind, she closed her eyes again, and brushed her forehead against his neck. "What song did we dance to?"

"'Walking in Memphis'," he answered, and in obvious anticipation of the declaration rising in her throat, clarified, "I know, Marc Cohn's version is much better."

Rubbing her cheek on his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her head, she shoved away all thoughts of their uncertain future. Tonight she would dance and listen to tales of dreams where attending a Cher concert with her partner made perfect sense. "Tell me more, Mulder."

Their feet continued to shuffle and their bodies to move with the music as he rested his chin on her head. "You smiled...and laughed. I held you close... you were so warm, Scully. A two-headed mutant danced with Cher." She had to strain to hear his next words, her throat tightening when she did. "And we were happy."

 

~~~~~~

Fox Mulder was in heaven. And not just any heaven either. This was the branch where the early morning wake-up call was his partner's mouth steadily sucking his engorged penis. It was the area in heaven where his own little red-haired vacuum cleaner didn't consider it an insult when he rolled over and pillowed his head on her breast for a post-orgasmic snooze instead of reciprocating. 

She followed him in slumber, as he discovered the next time he awoke. Carefully easing his head from her chest, he watched her. At least in sleep, the tension was gone from her face. Her forehead was blessedly smooth, the shadows under her eyes a bit dimmer after a night spent in dreamland instead of worrying. The lips which had earlier brought him such excruciating pleasure were parted slightly. He leaned his head to her mouth and felt tiny puffs of warm breath against his cheek. 

Pulling back to look at her once more, he decided that maybe, just maybe, yesterday would prove a turning point for them. He didn't know what he was thinking when he brought her here -- he should have known she would associate it with that period in their lives, but he was too caught up in the idea of taking her to a place that meant something to him. Still, it forced a confrontation long overdue, and he hoped they each understood the other a little better. He knew that fear was a driving and sometimes paralyzing force for Scully, and though he believed she was learning to trust him with it, her inherent tendency to fear the end when she could be enjoying the middle was not  
going to disappear. 

As for himself...well, he wasn't going to win the next Mr. Tactful contest. It was true what he pointed out in the heat of their argument: their fears were manifested differently. She retreated behind her walls, often hiding from her enemies in her fortress' secret room for good measure. He raged against them, sometimes wounding his fellow warriors with his sword of sarcasm and shield of cruelty. 

No, neither would change, but in mutual awareness maybe they could prevent resentment from building to monumental proportions and allow themselves some peace in at least one area of their lives. 

As he lay thinking, she snuffled and shifted in her sleep, her hand sliding from her stomach to brush against his on its way down to the bed. The contact brought him back to the present, reminding him that while he might have had a taste of heaven this morning, she hadn't. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drew her closer and nuzzled her jaw. When she began to wake and stretch, he whispered while sprinkling raindrop kisses on her cheek, "Scully, I'm going to take you to my idea of heaven."

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

"Didn't I tell you this was heaven, Scully?" He mumbled at her with a mouthful of eggs and country ham. 

"Mmmhhhmm...'ou did." Her enunciation left something to be desired, but he could hardly fault her. She had just popped a piece of gravy-soaked biscuit in her mouth. 

Though she protested initially, citing cholesterol levels from his last checkup and the couple pounds she'd gained in recent months, he reminded her they were on vacation. He soon found that all he needed to do to push her over the edge was walk her into Earl's Hot Biscuits and watch her nearly be brought to her knees by the aroma of an old-fashioned Southern breakfast. 

They spent the next hour savoring their coffee, continually replenished by Gwen, their gray-haired waitress, who couldn't clear the top of Scully's head if she stood on her tiptoes. Gwen was a force to be reckoned with though, as she ignored truck drivers demanding seconds of fried chicken livers and biscuits, and chose instead to regale Mulder and Scully with tales of the days Elvis Presley made Earl's his regular hangout. Upon Mulder's inquiry, she stated emphatically that she did indeed believe the King was still alive, and proceeded to explain why to a rapt audience of one.

Occasionally, Mulder glanced across the table to find Scully watching him with a bemused smile on her face. He knew she could have shot his and Gwen's hopes dead in the water, so he loved her all the more for allowing him his delusions. But he gradually lost interest in the prattling woman who had pulled up a chair, ("I tell you what, standin' on my feet all day... my legs look like tree trunks 'fore I know it.") in favor of the one slowly running her foot up and down his calf, so he requested their check. Still talking, Gwen left to ring up their bill, telling a customer demanding service to "Keep yur britches on!"

Given Scully's general reaction to their arrival in Memphis, Mulder had no intention of suggesting a trek to Graceland, even though he had rather lascivious fantasies about the two of them in the Jungle Room. He was pleasantly stunned when she brought it up herself. 

They could go this afternoon, she said. No, she wouldn't mind, she was sure. Yes, she felt fine, why did he ask?

It wasn't until they were leaving that it dawned on him. Scully's generosity carried a price. And she handed him the bill when they climbed into the car. 

"You want us to do what?" 

"You heard me." Somewhere beneath the no-nonsense expression she wore, he was sure a smirk lurked. "I want us to take the sight-seeing cruise on the Memphis Island Queen."

"But..." The trouble was, he couldn't come up with a credible reason why they shouldn't spend ninety minutes rolling down the Mississippi on a gigantic paddleboat. Well, there was his tendency to turn the shade of asparagus and puke on himself, but she stopped taking that excuse seriously the first time they made love on his waterbed.

She settled her sunglasses on her nose and patted his leg. "The first tour leaves at 10:30, Mulder." 

Although reluctant to say good-bye to his breakfast so quickly, he nodded and started the car, vowing to buy her the tackiest piece of Elvis memorabilia Graceland's gift shop had to offer.

The ordeal he expected their cruise to be never materialized. Maybe it helped having something in his stomach. Maybe it was that the large vessel was built to move with the swiftly flowing current. It gave at just the right moments in order to minimize the bobbing that usually forced him to scurry to the nearest railing. But he suspected it was neither of these things. No, as always, it was Scully. 

She was in her element here, showing no signs that paddling on a river paled in comparison with challenging the ocean in a sailboat. Someone with a microphone, probably the captain, directed them to look this way and that, pointing out river landmarks and giving history lessons for eleven dollars a ticket. Mulder saw none of it except as reflected in her eyes. A strong wind picked up and blew her hair in every direction, though much to her apparent aggravation, mostly in her face. Not for the first time in his life, he wished he could see the wind, if only to kiss it. Sufficient thanks, he thought, for giving him reason to tame the wild flyaway strands with a stroke of his hand. 

By the time they re-docked, he was abandoning his boating phobia and entertaining thoughts of Scully sun-bathing on the deck of a cruise ship. They would go to the Bahamas or some other tropical location which would allow him to model his Speedo for her. She interrupted his planning with a reminder that if they were going to visit Graceland that afternoon, lunch was in order. 

Their trip to Central BBQ had them both strolling down memory lane after Scully deliberately missed her mouth and ended up with a smear of tangy sauce marring her complexion. The look she gave him as he again wiped her face clean was similar to the one he remembered. He wondered if he could have had her even back then, but decided they had come together in their own time... the right time. Still, he was glad he could explore later just what was behind this sultry expression. Maybe they sold this sauce to go. 

 

They were maneuvering the city streets again, and Mulder was thinking to himself that D.C. drivers wouldn't seem quite so crazy after Memphis traffic, when Scully stretched to look over the seat. Whatever she found didn't please her. She turned around and kicked at the collection of bags, wrappers, and disposable coffee cups littering the floorboard.

"Mulder, this car is disgusting." 

He glanced at the face she was making. "Sorry, Scully... it was the best the rental agency could do on such short notice." 

"No, I mean its current condition. We accumulate more garbage with every stop, and it smells." For proof, she held up a small box containing botulism in the form of leftover chicken strips. "If you spot a dumpster, pull over and I'll clear some of this out."

As he kept watch for the nearest trash receptacle, she shoved as much of the garbage as she could into a paper bag, ignoring him when he tried to rescue the half doughnut she tossed in. Slipping her hand between their seats, she retrieved a bag of sunflower seeds -- well, about ten seeds -- and moved to send it packing, too. 

"Hey, not those!" He snatched the bag from her and dug deeply into it, popping a seed into his mouth. She was hanging over the seat gathering more garbage when he spotted a big, gaping trash eater in a day-care center's parking lot. "There's one." 

He decided he didn't need the few seeds anyway and shoved them into her hand as she got out.

Wanting to be in the proper frame of mind for their trip to Graceland, he began scanning the radio for something by Elvis. He glanced up just as Scully approached the dumpster.  
Stopping a couple feet away, she froze, dropped the trash where she stood, and ran back to the car. The car door flew open and she leaned in and gestured to the back of the car. 

"Pop the trunk. I need some gloves." 

"What's wrong?" His question was spoken to an empty car as she was already standing behind the car. He released the trunk's lock, and she rummaged for a few seconds before walking briskly toward the dumpster, pulling her rubber gloves on as she went. Alarmed, he stepped out of the car. "Scully?"

If she heard him, she gave no indication. Her hands protected from whatever she might encounter, she stepped onto a small ledge jutting out from the bottom of the container. It raised her a foot or so, enough that she could lean through the opening on the side. As he approached her, he saw what sent her running for her gloves. A trail of fresh blood, no more than a few hours old, started on the parking lot and led to the dumpster. Drops and smears of red were on the side of the metal box and on the ledge of the opening. She was frantically pushing garbage bags away from her, digging down deeper, as she stood on her tiptoes to reach further. 

He touched her back. "Scully?"

Breathing heavily, she turned toward him. A fall of hair obscured part of her face, but he could see her skin was white with shock. "Mulder, call 911... there's a baby in here." 

Oh, God. His heart rate doubled as he raced back to the car for his cell phone. Whywhywhywhy... why now? They were never going to get a break. First, blood in the night and now babies being tossed out like garbage. 

The operator answered just as Scully climbed down from the dumpster, a tiny brown baby cradled in her arms. Mulder struggled to get out the necessary information when his mind was occupied with the scene in front of him. 

This is Special Agent Fox Mulder... blood all over her shirt... not  
hers... police and emergency units to... where are we... Bellevue  
Boulevard... god, the umbilical cord's dangling against her legs...  
the Happy Day Childcare Center... baby in a dumpster... putting  
that fragile body on the ground... my partner's performing CPR...

Ending the call, he hurried back to her. She had placed the baby on a thrown away plastic bag and was carefully doing chest compressions. Two fingers pressed on a chest no wider than Scully's hand and small puffs of air inflated brand-new lungs. 

"They're on their way, Scully." 

Her words came between breaths and artificial heartbeats. "Need a... towel or something... have to keep her... warm."

With no towel available, Mulder yanked his shirt over his head. Still wearing an undershirt, he handed her the garment. She wrapped it around the infant, and then lowered her head to the little girl's chest, listening carefully. Somewhere in the distance, wailing sirens competed with the sound she sought, but Mulder knew she had held her focus when she looked up. 

"There's a heartbeat." She sat back on her heels, gloved hands resting on her thighs as she panted from the exhaustion of breathing for two. 

He was considering the dreaded "are you okay" question when the EMTs pulled into the parking lot, the Memphis police right behind them. For the next few minutes, he and Scully were thrust back into FBI agent mode. As the EMTs wrapped the baby in warming blankets, Scully described the child's condition when she was found. Leaving the medical personnel to their jobs, Mulder gave his statement to the police and accompanied them as they began to check out the area. 

Uniformed officers blocked off the parking lot with crime scene tape as people from neighboring businesses began to gather and gawk. A detective marked spots on the parking lot where blood had fallen. Someone discovered more splatters closer to the day-care, and the investigation was shifting in that direction when Mulder noticed the ambulance pulling away and his partner rushing behind the Honey-Baked Ham store next door.

Making sure they weren't needed for anything else, he set off after her. When he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly to avoid stumbling over her. 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

She was on her hands and knees, her back bowing with every retch as she emptied her stomach of her lunch. For a moment he stood there, astonished to see his own personal Rock of Gilbraltar that way. He was torn between giving her the privacy that she usually insisted on and the need to let her know he understood, to test their newfound vulnerability with each other. She spared him from making the decision when she gasped a faint "Mulder..." before another heave wracked her body. Without another thought he was on his knees behind her, draping over her back with one arm around her waist in some kind of sick parody of the last time they made love. This was one of love's other  
incarnations. Just as he remembered his mother did for him, he held her forehead in the palm of his hand, supporting her as she vomited up misery and grief. 

Her body was trembling from the force of being sick when she finally stopped bringing anything up. Content to press his knees into the gravelly concrete for as long as she needed, he continued to hold her as she gasped for breath. When she seemed to have herself under control, together they stood and she moved into his arms as freely as he'd hoped she would. 

Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped her mouth for the second time that day. "Feel better?"

"Oh God," she sighed, her body sagging against his. "You know, back in med school... during my residency, this kind of thing was difficult for me... I thought one day I would get used to it, but I haven't." 

She shook her head against him. "And I'll never understand it."

"Understand what?" He squeezed her in his arms, aware of what he couldn't comprehend, but wanting to give her the chance to express it for herself. 

"How... how anyone could throw away a child... a baby who had hardly taken her first breath..." She shook her head as she looked at him, her eyes unfocused. "... how any child could be destroyed... in any way." 

"You're right, Scully. You'll never understand it." Trying to soften the impact of his words, he pulled her back to him, fitting her head under his chin. "No one will, because it makes no sense." 

They stood there for long minutes, the sounds of investigators going about their business just yards away. Almost in unison, their heartbeats slowed to a normal rhythm. He knew their sight-seeing of Memphis was over. Just the thought of continuing on to the site of all that was tacky and tasteless, made him want to be sick, too. A quiet night in the hotel before getting on the road in the morning would be the best thing for both of them. 

"Are you ready to go back to the hotel, Scully?"

She raised her head suddenly, nearly striking him in the chin. "No... there's somewhere I want us to go." Then realizing the condition of her clothes, she grimaced. "But I guess, yeah... we should go change first."

He was surprised. "Where? I would have thou--"

"I've seen the destruction of too many children." Moving from his arms, she stood straighter, the strength he was used to seeing, returning in increments. "I want to go to a place where they fight to save them."

 

~~~~~~~~

 

There were days, like yesterday, when the most important woman in his life drove him crazy, not that he didn't suspect she felt the same about him. But then there were days like today.

Sitting in one of the patient playrooms in St. Jude Children's Hospital, his heart fluctuating from the depths of his stomach to his throat, he watched as Scully balanced herself on a tiny, red chair. She spoke earnestly and quietly to a little girl wearing a bright yellow hat on her smooth, hairless head. As if she were unwilling to be caught doing only one thing, the little girl had insisted Scully help her color a picture while they talked. 

When she had told him where she wanted to go, to a hospital especially for children with catastrophic illnesses, he started to try and change her mind. It couldn't be a good idea for her to surround herself with dying children, not while awaiting her own sentence. 

In the end, he couldn't refuse her. 

Upon arriving at the hospital, he saw how wrong he was. This was exactly the place she needed to be, for though many of the children were dying, just as many or more were living. The walls were bright and cheery, the staff dressed not in antiseptic white but in every color of the rainbow. Children of all ages roamed the halls, some on crutches or in wheelchairs -- at least one he saw in a red wagon just like Samantha had. Heads were covered with hats of all kinds, wigs made just for small people, or with nothing at all. 

As he and Scully walked through the hospital, they found little boys and girls playing in small groups or catching up on homework in rooms isolated to protect fragile immune systems. At one door, she stopped, folding her left arm across her body... her other hand fluttering to her mouth. He followed her line of sight, swallowing hard at the tableau before them. Curled around a small child -- boy or girl, without the hair it was impossible to tell from there -- was a woman, younger than Scully, perhaps, but with the same tired look on her face. Her hand rested on the child's chest as though feeling for a heartbeat, and she cried without making a sound. After watching another moment, Scully put her hand in his and they continued down the hall. 

The playroom was filled with toys and books, but only one little girl, and this was where Scully chose to stop next. Much to his surprise she sat down and struck up a conversation with the small patient who looked to be a bit older than Emily had been. 

He sat on the couch across the room, drinking in the sight of Scully dealing with her trials in her own way. Lost in contemplation, he started as a tall, curly-haired woman sat down next to him. 

She smiled. "Are you with her?"

"The woman?" He nodded. "Yes." 

"Oh, I know you're not with Krisanna," she laughed. "She's my daughter, and I don't believe we've ever met."

He offered his hand and smiled. "No, we haven't. My name's Mulder... that's Dana Scully over there with the black crayon." 

Returning his handshake she replied, "I'm Lydia Hamrick." She glanced over at the budding artists before speaking again. "It's really nice of you to visit with my daughter. We don't live here, so the only visitors she has are her dad and brothers when he can drive them down." 

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost two months," she answered and then smiled. "But we'll be going home soon."

Before he could comment, Scully approached, and he jumped to his feet in case she was ready to leave. Thinking he might have looked a little too eager to get out of there, he introduced the two women and listened as they chatted about Krisanna's progress in a language in which he was becoming all too proficient. He kept his gaze fixed on her eyes, watching as they began to glimmer with tears at news the little girl had been diagnosed with an atypical Rhabdoid tumor in her brain. Unshed tears lingered but were out-shone by hope when Lydia explained how, much to the doctors' amazement, the tumor was located in an atypical area and was completely removed. 

"She has two more weeks of chemo and radiation, and then we're done for now!" Her smile broadened. "Oddly enough, I'll miss this place -- there are days when I'm totally awed by the amount of giving that goes on here." 

"It seems very special." Scully's voice was quiet.

"It is. It's a nice feeling, to be in a place filled with people all working to save my daughter's life." Called by her daughter, Lydia started to move away, stopping to pat Scully's shoulder. "There should be more such people." 

Scully whispered, "Yes, there should." 

When the mother walked away, Mulder and Scully left the playroom and started toward the elevators. Both were quiet -- she seemed lost in thought, and he was busily trying to  
determine how the visit had affected her. He didn't have to wait long for his answer. 

Pressing the down arrow by the elevator, she turned to him. "I'm going to be okay, Mulder." 

He wasn't expecting that. "You are, Scully?"

"Mmmhmm," she smiled. "I am." 

 

~~~~~~~~~

Both Mulder and Scully were dead to the world, if not to each other, for ten hours following their day of dizzying highs and lows. The extra sleep proved to come in handy as they traversed a great part of the South the next day. Taking the first leg of the journey from Memphis to Birmingham, Scully concentrated on maintaining her position behind the fastest moving truck -- "no sense lolly-gagging around."

"Lolly-gagging, Scully?"

"Lolly-gagging... dilly-dallying. Come on, Mulder... if you go somewhere, you really should learn the language." 

Whether or not that piece of advice applied to regions within one's own country of origin took up several miles, until he promised to teach her all the dirty words he knew in French, as well as their applications. They made it through the first vocabulary lesson before she deemed it unsafe for them both, and righted the car on the highway and Mulder in his seat. 

Stopping at a rest area just west of the Alabama-Georgia state line, they dug into club sandwiches purchased during their drive through Birmingham. In between bites, she interrogated him as to their next destination, but he was a tough nut to crack -- something she pointed out with a smile. From his prone position  
on top of the picnic table, he grinned and hooked his finger under the collar of her shirt, pulling her face to his. "I would think you'd be glad my nuts are tough." 

They exchanged snickering laughs and teasing kisses, their need to reach their destination before very late finally driving them back into the car. Despite their best efforts, it was nearly eleven that night when they checked into a Holiday Inn in Waycross, Georgia. Mulder admitted they were only a few miles from where they would spend the next couple days and could have gone on, but with an embarrassed look, said he wanted her see it in the daylight first. 

 

She appreciated the decision to wait -- crossing the bridge onto St. Simon's Island was like entering a different world. They drove along winding lanes lined with a mixture of palm and cypress trees, their car now and then flirting with the edge of pristine beaches. Cottages and the typical beachfront motels were scattered close to the white sand, but far enough from each other to keep crowding to a minimum. Elegant old houses obviously bearing the Spanish influence sat behind lush green lawns. 

Their drive took them past what appeared to be the main beach, and into a heavily wooded section on the far end of the island. Scully was just making out slivers of rolling blue beyond the trees, when the car slowed to a crawl. Although she refocused her eyes to take in her immediate surroundings, she didn't see why Mulder would be heading in this direction -- until he nudged her elbow and pointed for her to look up through the windshield.

Her gaze followed the path he indicated and ended up fixed on what appeared to be a meticulously crafted house. It was small, made of finely hewn wood and glass. Windows filled every side of the structure, including the two bay areas on either side of the front door. Two flights of stairs, the curved railings and solid steps fashioned from tree branches, led to a spacious front porch. Although it was an extraordinary house, its beauty wasn't what took Scully's breath away.

No, its most distinctive feature was that it stood fifteen to twenty feet off the ground. 

Nestled among the branches of a stand of large trees. 

"Oh, my God." Her mouth gaped, and she turned to him in disbelief. "Is that a..."

He nodded as if he saw one every day. "A tree house."

"In a tree..." She turned back to stare at it as Mulder eased the car up to the rail fence circling the house and parked.

"It wouldn't be a tree house if it weren't, Scully." Popping the trunk, he climbed out to begin unloading their bags, as she followed, still looking back over her shoulder. Handing her a suitcase, he led the way. "The guy who owns this place was into tree houses, and after building one, he built another and another. Pretty soon he turned them into a resort."

"Amazing." She couldn't decide what she found more astonishing -- an island resort of tree houses like something straight out of "Swiss Family Robinson," or that Mulder had  
arranged all of this for her.

Having removed the key from a sealed envelope lying on the welcome mat and marked "Fox Mulder," he opened the door announcing, "And this is ours." 

She preceded him in, marveling at the wonder of this place. A first glance around the enormous room revealed a queen-size bed positioned under a sky-light, a small kitchen complete with dining table, and through the narrow doorway in the back, she could make out what looked like a tub, just like hers.

Mulder dropped his bags beside the bed before returning to her side, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "I could have gotten another house, but it was fifty feet in the air, accessible only by rope and harness."

"Ooo, kinky," she teased as she turned into his embrace and hugged her thanks. 

He took a deep breath and let his hands wander. "Then again, we could always switch." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Promising that later that night, he wouldn't miss having ropes and harnesses, she managed to get them out of the house. Since the island was small, and they had all day, they opted to walk as they began a sight-seeing tour with no agenda. Once they were clear of the more wooded end of the island, Scully spotted a towering lighthouse, so they began working their way in that direction. 

Upon their arrival at the enormous brick structure, they discovered by the sign out front that it was not only fully operational by the U.S. Coast Guard, but that it housed the Museum of Coastal History. Choosing to save the museum for later, they entered the lighthouse and found themselves in another era. Preserved to reflect its original appearance, the main room featured darkly polished wood floors and trim with brass fixtures. Ancient mariners' maps hung on the walls and old-time nautical equipment sat within glass cases. The wheel of a ship stood bolted in place in the middle of a small platform, and standing beside it, as though he'd stepped out of a time capsule was the living incarnation of "Moby Dick"'s Captain Ahab. 

There was a small, quick intake of breath from Scully's direction when she saw him, and for a moment, they stared at each other. The spell was broken when he stepped off the platform to greet them.

"Good afternoon! Cap'n Mel Nobel here," he boomed, as he heartily pumped Scully's hand. "Yeah, I know -- it rhymes... the things parents name their kids..." 

She shot Mulder a look and swallowed a laugh at the expression on his face. Turning back to the bearded man in front of her, she introduced them both. "I'm Dana Scully... this is Mulder. Good to meet you."

Shaking Mulder's hand, he then gestured with a wide sweep of his arm. 

"You folks interested in a tour?"

Assured that they were, the white haired old man spent the next few minutes entertaining them with tales of the lighthouse's past. He told them of the first lighthouse to stand in that spot, replaced by the current one in 1872. His voice was full of pride as he explained the many instruments and records preserved there. Listening to him refer to the house as if it were a child or, better still, a lover, reminded Scully of her father's voice as he spoke of his ship. 

The tower itself was next, so she and Mulder carefully followed Captain Nobel up the narrow, spiral staircase. They stopped for a moment at the halfway point, to give the two of them a chance to catch their breaths, according to the old man, but she suspected he needed the break much more than they did. Fifteen or so feet from the top, a sign posted to the side of a tiny window promised, "Almost there!"

True to its word, they soon emerged onto the platform holding the enormous light, bright and big enough to warn passing ships of danger ahead. They could see the entire island from up there and well out into the blue, blue ocean with its huge white swells.

"Well, there she is." Captain Nobel extended his arm in the same proprietary gesture as he'd done downstairs. "Worth every step of the climb to see the ocean from here, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful." Scully smiled and nodded. "I appreciate you bringing us up... makes me think of how much my father would have enjoyed exploring the lighthouse, meeting you." 

Bushy eyebrows shot up in delight. "A sea-faring man, your  
father?"

"He was also a captain -- in the United States Navy." She turned to lean on the ledge and look back out over the water, feeling one of Mulder's fingers barely grazing her arm in tiny strokes. "He died several years ago."

"Ahhh, missy... men of the sea never really die. They live on in their vessels... in the oceans and rivers that they sailed." The keeper chuckled. "Even in their lighthouses." 

Mulder spoke for the first time since they'd climbed the tower. "Sounds like there's a story behind that comment, sir." 

"That there is m'boy!" Mel gave Mulder an exhuberant slap on the arm, bumping him into Scully. "Seems over a century ago, the lightkeeper, Frederick Osbourne, and his assistant, shared quarters here in the lighthouse itself. Cap'n Osbourne lived downstairs and the assistant was upstairs." Their storyteller took off his cap and scratched his head before continuing. "Well, ya see... they got into an argument one Sunday morning and Osbourne wound up dead." His voice lowered to a rumbling whisper as he leaned toward them. "According to the wives of several keepers over the years, footsteps were heard in the tower late at night... when the keepers were in plain view, standing stalk still." 

Raising up, he rocked back on his heels. "Now, don't that beat all ya ever heard?"

The story was amusing, but Scully couldn't believe it was still being told, obviously without considering other avenues of thought. "Captain Nobel, don't you think those 'footsteps' were a product of these women's imaginations? Brought on by stories told in grander scale every time, until--"

Mulder interrupted, "Sir, did anyone ever mention feeling a cold wind blow through around the time footsteps were heard?"

She stared at him, annoyed that he would perpetuate such nonsensical thinking. "Mulder! You can't be serious --"

This time he moved in front of her, appearently intent on questioning the man currently scratching his bearded chin. "Or perhaps there was a particular spot in the lighthouse that was colder than anywhere else?"

Though she wasn't sure who she was talking to at this point, she continued. "A branch might have been slamming against an outside wall... Or a hot water heater sometimes makes a knocking sound when it's heat--"

He stopped to grin at her. "Scully, there were no hot water heaters back--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kids!" Holding up his hands, Captain Noble looked from Mulder to Scully. "Ya take all the fun out of a ghost story when you dissect it. Hadn't anyone ever told ya that?" Shaking his head, he turned to head back down the stairs, glancing back at them with an exasperated look and motioning for them to follow. "Well, guess we've fiddle-faddled around up here long 'nough."

Hustled out of the lighthouse, Mulder and Scully stood on the boardwalk staring at each other, until she snickered. After a good laugh, they walked on and found a red and white striped stand selling ice cream and sno-cones, perfect for the windy heat still blowing through in September. She licked her orange sherbet push-up and he sucked all the grape flavoring from a hole in the bottom of his sno-cone as they walked through the middle of the island. 

Hours flew by with their meandering, but still they continued -- this time beneath a canopy of branches. Rows and rows of oak trees that were hundreds of years old, Scully estimated, filled an expanse of land. They lined unmarked paths, their branches twisting and turning overhead until one tree joined with another across the way. The leaves were already beginning to fall, but still they showed no signs of being anything but a most vivid green. 

As they walked hand in hand, the only sounds were those of rustling leaves. Breaking the silence, Scully mused aloud. 

"Sometimes, with all we've seen and experienced, it's hard for me to believe a place this beautiful and peaceful still exists in the world." She squeezed his hand. "At least I didn't until you brought me here." 

He spoke, his voice tentative and unsure. "So, even with... everything, this time away has been a good thing?"

"I think so. Our attempt to forget the possibility I'm out of remission notwithstanding, we needed some time just for us."

"The test results should be back any time now, shouldn't they?"

She hesitated for an instant before answering. "Yes, I think they should be."

He stopped in his tracks, pulling her back to stand in front of him. "Scully, what are you not telling me?"

Taking a deep breath, she met his worried stare. "While... you were in the shower this morning, I called Dr. Zuckerman's office to see what the delay was." At his deep sigh, she shrugged one shoulder as if to say, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." 

"And?" His gaze was intent... pleading.

"And it seems a clerical error had the lab overlooking the samples sent over for testing... they didn't start working on them until late yesterday." 

"Dammit." He pressed his palms against his forehead, pulling on his closely cropped hair at the same time.

She pulled his arms down and moved into them, holding him tight. "Dr. Zuckerman thinks he'll have them by this evening though, and he'll give me a call immediately." 

"Scully..." Laying his head atop hers, he rocked her from side to side. "Well, what do you want to do until then?"

"I thought we might--" Her suggestion was cut short by a flurry of activity and the swell of an organ music bursting from the small, white church across the road. 

More people than the church looked like it could hold spilled from it. They lined a stone path from the front door, laughing and applauding as a young couple dressed in wedding finery ran from the building. She was blonde and beautiful. Her full skirt caught up in one hand, she tossed a bouquet of what appeared to be lilies with the other. Her new husband was dark and good-looking. He helped his bride into the white convertible awaiting them, and they drove away amid family and friends shouting "Congratulations, Jeni and Tom! Be happy!"

Scully had turned in Mulder's arms to watch the departure. His hands now were locked around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder, convenient for kisses to her neck. 

She leaned her head against him. "That's a beautiful little church for a wedding. They seemed happy."

"I think you're required by law to at least pretend happiness on your wedding day," he teased.

"I wonder if they'll stay on the island their first night... maybe at the Tree House Resort." She twisted to see his face. "They must have a honeymooner's house, don't you think?"

"Uhhh...yeah, I'm... pretty sure they do," he stammered. "But I don't think that couple will be in it tonight."

Suspecting he had a little secret of his own, she faced him and purred, "Mulderrrr? Why don't you think that?"

"Because we're in it, okay? It was the only thing they had left." His admission came rapid-fire. "Unless you want to hoist yourself fifty feet up."

She shook her head in mock seriousness. "No, I think I'm more than satisfied." 

"Are you, Scully?" He held her head between his hands and began covering her face with kisses. "Are you sure you're satisfied?"

Kissing him once, she changed her mind. "Mmmm, maybe not. Let's go sit on the beach and you can tell me how you plan to fulfill my every wish tonight."

 

The sun was beginning to set over the ocean by the time they reached the resort's private beach beyond the trees. Picking a spot on a grassy area just before shells and sand took over the landscape, Scully sat leaning against the trunk of a palm tree. Uncharacteristically quiet, Mulder lay with his head resting in her lap, his feet crossed at the ankles, and his hands worrying a seashell.

"Scully? What would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

She looked down at him, unsure if she'd actually heard that. "Excuse me?"

"That's what you would say?" The shell went flying in favor of a blade of monkey grass.

"Uhhhh.. no... I'm just not sure where you're going with this."

"I'm not going anywhere with it. It was a simple question -- what would your answer be, hypothetically, if I asked you to marry me?"

She thought for a moment. "Well, first I'd want to know why you asked me." 

Sitting up, he faced her and drew his knees up to chest. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe in your mind, Mulder..." Seeing he didn't take that well, she tried another track. "Okay, hypothetically, are you asking me this question after we've discussed marriage?"

"I guess... no... hell, I don't know. You're making this difficult, Scully." 

 

She reached out and tugged at one of the legs of his jeans. "Just say what you're trying to get at." 

He took a deep breath and spoke directly to the ground between them. "Standing back there at the church... I was thinking... remembering how you once talked about wanting a normal life, and..." He paused, finally looking at her. "I thought you'd see marriage as a part of that."

"First, I can't be held accountable for everything I say while being driven into Area 51." She sobered her voice. "What I mean is, I may talk about having a 'normal' life, but... when it comes down to it, Mulder, I'm happy with my life as it is."

"So you don't want us to get married, ever." 

"What would marriage change for us?"

"I... I don't..." His blind search for an answer ended without producing one.

"Would you love me more?"

He met her gaze with his own, one so sure and true it brought tears to her eyes. "That's not possible, Scully." 

"Would it mean you'd be more committed to me?"

"No." 

She smiled. "That's what I thought. Speaking for myself," she paused as she knee-walked the foot or so between them. "Though I may not be as proficient at expressing it as you are... no one will ever love you as much as I do, Mulder, as far as I'm concerned, I'm yours and you're mine until," she grabbed the front of his shirt in her hand and pulled him to her, whispering, "until whatever end there is." 

He uncurled her fingers from his clothes and cradled her hand between his as he matched her whisper and raised her a kiss. "Until death or aliens us do part?" 

"Something like that," she mumbled into his mouth.

Their slow kisses turned into gentle caresses as they laid down on the ground. Mulder was just easing the clingy knit of her dress up her thigh when the sharp trilling of a cell phone startled them. 

Sitting up, they both began scrambling to see whose it was. Scully pulled hers out of a deep pocket saying, "Mine, mine... it's mine."

She flipped it open. "Scully..."

"I'm fine, doctor, thank you."

"No, that's all right. I understand." Her voice was breathless from anxiety and dimming arousal. "What do you have for me?"

"Mmmhmm," she hummed, trying to listen and ignore Mulder's questioning expression at the same time. "What about the chem panels?"

"Nothing?" Oh, God... thank you, she prayed. Her pounding heart rolled over as Mulder's eyes widened at the single word. He was going to be so relieved.

"No, no, I... I realize that. Yes," she smiled, tears threatening to fill the back of her throat. "It is good news." 

"Yes, I'll see you in three months." 

"Thank you." Thumbing the off button, she tossed the phone into the grass and climbed into Mulder's lap, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

His hands swept over her back. "Nothing? Nothing at all?" 

"The tumor's still there, of course, but it's no bigger. The blood tests came back negative, and --" 

"Then what caused that nosebleed?"

"He doesn't have an explanation other than one of the things you and I discussed." She shrugged and reminded him, "Remission doesn't always mean the complete disappearance of indicating factors." 

"So we're right back where we were?"

Massaging the back of his neck, she grinned up at him. "Yeah... status quo has never looked so good, has it?" Life had never looked so good to her, not even when she originally went into remission. Being with Mulder changed things.

"I think we should celebrate."

"I think so, too." She jumped up from his lap and pulled him to his feet. With a smile over her shoulder, she began walking toward their house. "Let's go climb a tree." 

~~~~~~~~

The last few days of their vacation were blissfully free of the dark cloud that had dogged them since they left D.C. Biking tours of smaller, neighboring islands filled hours not spent playing tag over and under ocean waves. 

They passed their final evening lying on a blanket on the beach, craggy rock formations serving as shelter from prying eyes. High tide lapped within feet of them -- they'd have to go wading when it came time to get around the rocks and return to the house. But Scully didn't give it a thought, and she suspected Mulder was equally unconcerned, judging by his deep grunts as he balanced over her. 

Having stripped her of her black swimsuit, he knelt with his hands digging into the covered sand and drove into her. Her legs were locked high around his waist, and she pulled him back to her before they'd barely separated. Their lovemaking was frenzied as they worked off days of worry. Her thrusts came as rapid-fire as his, and teeth nipped at flesh as her drive to live and love was manifested in her body's response to him. Even in the balmy ocean air, chill-bumps rose on her skin. She felt dizzy from the blood rushing to pool in her center, so she clutched at his forearms to avoid spinning away. 

It was dark with only a full moon for light when she peered up at him. Her beginning orgasm was making it difficult to focus, but she could see his eyes were screwed shut, his face a mask of pleasure-pain. His lips formed mere breaths of her name, and she feared he was losing himself in his nightmare world without her. Drawing up to wrap her arms around his neck, she ground her pelvis into his, her contracting walls touching off his own release. As he collapsed and clung to her, she rubbed his back and rocked them, whispering, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," until sleep overtook them both. 

 

Loathe to leave, but needing to be back to work in just three days, they started the long drive the next day after an early morning swim. Eight hours later, when he suggested they stop for the night, Scully was glad she'd taken Mulder's advice to pack as if she didn't know where she was going. 

This time she found herself ushered into a tiny cottage nestled in the Great Smokey Mountains. It was nearing the end of peak season in the village of Gatlinburg, so they were able to secure a place for the night in one of Kling's Chateau's, a collection of exquisite little houses resembling those found in the mountains of Germany or Switzerland. Further exploration of the tiny town revealed an odd conglomeration of heritages on display, with German, Irish, and Cherokee Indian being the most predominant. Although she was sure people resided in the area year around, most of the businesses seemed to cater to tourists. Craftsmen and artisans lined every street, demonstrating and selling their  
handiwork. 

As the evening wore on, Scully led a reluctant Mulder from speciality shop to art gallery to toy store, determined to find something for her mother and little Matthew. Mulder's question, "What about Bill?", garnered him a dismissive snort and a suggestion that he could pick out something for her brother if he wanted. They worked their way up one of the streets in the direction of their chateau. She was promising him fudge from Claire's Old-Fashioned Candy Factory if he would accompany her to one more shop, when he spotted it.

Across the street and further up the hill stood Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum in all its brightly colored, flashing sign glory. With a groan, she allowed herself to be tugged along by a man bent on seeing for himself Van Gogh's self-portrait made out of jelly beans. 

Twenty minutes later, they were back on the sidewalk, having been told for the second time in three days that they were taking the fun out of the bizarre. Well, if she were going to be really honest, she was the one accused of spoiling the party, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let Mulder's cry of "It's the Fiji Mermaid!" go unanswered. 

She let Mulder soothe her ruffled feathers with a back rub later that night. And by the time they hiked two miles through the mountains the next morning, she was ready for another. Sitting on a smooth rock in the middle of a babbling creek, her bare feet chilling in the water, she sighed her relief as his fingers unraveled knots in her shoulders. In between bites of the Kit-Kat bars she'd carried in her pocket, they talked of everything and nothing. 

As they headed back down the mountain, a feeling of dread washed over her -- End of Vacation Syndrome was setting in. This vacation had given her a taste of what it meant to be with him, no regrets and no restraints. She'd grown to know him in a new way, and with his help, she also revealed herself to him, opening lines of communication they never had before. Returning to their lives and jobs in DC would bring an end to the carefree, and a resumption of the all-encompassing quest they shared. She mentally shook herself. They weren't home yet, and she wasn't going to spoil those last hours anticipating what she couldn't change. 

On their way out of Gatlinburg, they stopped at Michael's Celtic Heritage, a shop specializing in Irish and Scottish items. Deciding jewelry was the way to go for her mother, she  
purchased a pendant made of white gold. The design was that of a Celtic knot, a circle without beginning or end, never to be unravelled. Not an inappropriate symbol for her relationship with Mulder, she mused as they left the shop. 

 

It was after nine that evening when Scully unlocked the door of her apartment. Dropping her bag by the door, she moved to check her messages, chuckling as Mulder made a bee-line for the bathroom. She'd told him not to get the forty-two ounce Coke at their last stop. Two telemarketers and her landlord were the only company her answering machine had while she was gone. The unpacking could wait, so she headed for her bedroom, wriggling out of her jeans as she went. 

She sank onto her bed and was sitting with her eyes closed when Mulder padded in. Lifting one eyelid, she saw that he was clad only in boxers and a t-shirt. Experience told her she'd find the rest of the clothes strewn over the bathroom floor in the morning. The eyelid closed again in weariness. 

"Does it feel good to be home, Scully?"

"I... I'm not sure." Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly and stood to pull back the covers. "As much as I loved every place we stayed, it will feel good to sleep in my own bed, but..."

"But?" He turned her toward him and cocked his head to one side in that way he had. Sometimes it made her feel as if he could read her mind. "But being back here, those walls are starting to close in again?"

Apparently he really could read her mind. "I guess... being home is a reminder that nothing's really changed, and... that doesn't look as good here as it did the other night on the beach." She huffed a laugh. 

"It wasn't the cancer this time, but it could be the next... is that it?" he asked.

She nodded again and sighed as his hands cupped her face, his thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones. Eyelids that closed without her permission opened as his hands left her face. His nimble fingers began slipping her shirt's buttons through their holes as his breath caressed her forehead. 

"Yeah, it could be, but," he paused to kiss her temple, pushing her shirt off her shoulders. "We need to think of today..."

Her hands ran over his chest, one finger circling his nipples through his shirt. Stretching up on her toes, she nipped underneath his chin as he unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms. 

He sent her panties to the floor, his hands stroking back up her body. "Not tomorrow," he mouthed in the valley between her breasts.

"Just tonight?" she asked as her neck lost its ability to hold her head upright. He ran his fingers through her hair, cupping her head in his hand.

"Yep," he smiled and eased her onto the bed, stripping off his shirt and boxers before lying down beside her. Her toes curled as he avoided kissing her in favor of running his tongue down her neck and the slopes of her breasts. Grazing his lips over the darkening tips, he rasped, "We'll enjoy each other, Scully."

"Love each other...ohhh..." The weariness caused by eight hours in the car began to recede as he moved slowly into her.

"Yesss..." He hissed as she contracted her muscles around him. "It's the journey, Scully." Slipping one arm under her shoulders, he propped himself up with the other, setting up a leisurely rock. 

Though her body's natural inclination was to shutter her eyes, she fought to keep them open, wanting to see him for as long as possible. Smoothing her hand over his cheek, she smiled, "Then let's get back on the road, Mulder. You and I still have a long way to go."

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> "Mileage" is the result of one desire -- to write a "long" story,  
> mostly to see if I could. I'm still learning this writing thing, you  
> know. Back in May, after that annoying season finale aired, I  
> said to myself and a few select people: "Self and Select People,  
> I'd like to write a long story between now and CC's attempt to get  
> out of the corner he painted himself into." The desire to  
> write a long story is all well and good, but it doesn't mean squat  
> without an idea, which I was missing until last month. Big waste  
> of the summer, huh? But then I decided that I liked the idea  
> of M&S traveling all over the country, not on cases -- just on  
> vacation. So I began thinking about that, and I remembered that  
> when my father wanted to talk to me parent-to-child, he'd trap me  
> in a moving vehicle and let me have it. Voila! I could do the same  
> to M&S. 
> 
> But where to send them?? I knew I wanted their destinations to  
> be *different*, but I was also set on a stop in Memphis, TN,  
> because darn it, M&S aren't passing through the South without  
> coming to my hometown! Their stay here and the things they did  
> were as realistic as I could make them. There really is a Memphis  
> Island Queen, the ducks really *do* march to and from the lobby  
> of The Peabody every day. St. Jude's Children's Hospital really  
> does marvelous work for children with cancer. And unfortunately,  
> just last week, a newborn baby girl really was thrown into the  
> dumpster of a day-care center by her mother, just after she was  
> born. The name and location of the center were changed to  
> protect the innocent. 
> 
> Pig, Kentucky also actually exists, as does the Porky Pig Diner.  
> The Wigwam Village where M&S stayed in Pig is genuine,  
> however I messed with the geography a bit -- it's in Cave City,  
> KY. 
> 
> The tree house resort where M&S stayed on St. Simon's Island  
> is real, though it's actually located in Oregan. Hey, what's a few  
> thousand miles? ; ) The lighthouse is  
> really there, and so is the little church where M&S saw the bride  
> and groom. It's called Christ Church, and its origins date back to  
> the early 1800s when John and Charles Wesley preached under  
> the big oaks there. St. Simon's Island truly is an exquisite place,  
> and I'd love to go back -- if you ever get the chance to go, do. 
> 
> And lastly, Gatlinburg, TN in the Great Smokey Mountains is real.  
> I should know... I spent a weekend or two there every year of my  
> childhood. Gorgeous trees in the fall, skiing and skating in the  
> winter, and beautiful hand-crafts year 'round. The trails through  
> the mountains can be easy or challenging, the creeks are ice  
> cold and crystal clear, and there's no better place for a picnic  
> than beside Laurel Falls. 
> 
> Maybe that's what this story was -- a chance to let M&S enjoy  
> some of my most favorite places on earth while learning a little  
> more about each other. I wanted to show they could be together,  
> still having problems and old hurts to smooth over, but that when  
> all was said and done, their love was stronger than anything.


End file.
